


I Slept With Someone In Trickstar And All I Got Was This Stupid Fanfic

by MountainMew



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainMew/pseuds/MountainMew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nevermind</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How I Learned To Stop Giving a Sh*t and Love Maoritsu

**Author's Note:**

> You should all know by now I'm incapable of writing multichapter fics, but I had like five different one shot ideas all at once so I decided to shove them into one horrible series of fics. I've got a ton done so expect something every now and again for the rest of the month.  
>   
> Here's a guide to the chapters so u can find ur otp kissing:  
> CH1: MaoRitsu  
> CH2: Keichi  
> CH3: HokuAnzu  
> CH4: IzuAnzu  
> CH5: MaoRitsu SIGH again  
> CH6: MikaNaru  
> CH7: MikaAnzu  
> CH8: NaruAnzu  
> CH9: HinaTetora which lack a decent name abbreviation  
> CH10: immediately another very self indulgent NaruAnzu  
> CH11: Keichi again  
> CH12: IzuMakoAn (Kind of?)  
> CH13: HokuAn from the viewpoint of Eichi and Anzu  
> CH14: EiLeo i think  
> CH15: SuzuAn sort of  
> CH16: NatsuAnTsumu although its all pretty platonic  
> CH17: maoritsu YES AGAIN!!!  
>   
> Lets hope naming every title after a song gets me sued and i can be free from enstars once and for all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, there was a time I thought my love for MSI was a joke. I thought there was nothing serious about this love, that it was a total hoax and after a few laughs I could move on with my life. But it wasn't. It absolutely was not a joke. I really, genuinely love MSI.  
> ...  
> You know, there was a time I hated Mao. I thought he was ugly and he reminds me of a guy I went to middle school with. Basketball... Ugly hair... Incredibly heterosexual...  
> And then MaoRitsu happened. How I learned to stop giving a sh*t, indeed.  
> Yet again, I've been made a fool. But you know what? I don't give a sh*t!! Fuck Mao! Fuck Ensemble Stars! I LOVE MAORITSU! I hope they are happy boys!  
> Enjoy the happiest moments of all... sleeping.

 His eyes rest gracelessly to the beat of his own pounding heart. What kind of vampire’s heart flutters, or beats at all? He can’t help himself, drowning in the scents of overworn clothes and the sweet taste of iron and blood. Mao’s a treat in more ways than one, candy for the eyes and kisses like chocolate on pretzels. They’re moments indescribable and easily forgotten, so neither can waste a second to start up again.  
  Ritsu tangles his fingertips in Mao’s stray hair, biting his lips he says, “I love you.” No, no, “I loooo~ve you,” he says. Maybe more than once, or thrice, or enough to forget he was saying those embarrassing words at all. His eyes start to drop, the longer he commits the act to memory, braiding Mao’s bangs to ill-recognizable knots. Pushing forward, his head collides with Mao’s gently, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to bite at his cheek’s, to be the first thing he wakes up to seeing.  
  “Shameless, isn’t it?” She says. She leans back, looks at him with feigned judgement as a responsible mother would. That girl, who’s always there and always so quietly observing, who takes his hand and places it careful into Mao’s. She winks at him a little, slyly flicks at Mao’s head before jumping off the grass and wiping stains from behind. Ritsu isn’t sure who to pay mind to, Mao slowly stirring from his nap or the girl who waves at him with great pride. Mouths something along the lines of _ Good luck _ before his attention is glued back to Mao.  
  Ritsu’s quick to put on an act, to pretend Mao had woken up naturally than be disturbed. Forgets about their hands intertwined before running his back through his hair.  _ Shhh, _ he presses his fingers to his lips, then to Mao’s. Smiles, before it’s his lips to Mao’s, in something that shouldn’t be a kiss but is anyway. “Mooorning,” Ritsu whispers, flubbing the word into mumbling garbage from his mouth. He should be saying it’s his turn to sleep, to nuzzle his face into Mao’s neck and rest properly like a vampire should. But he can’t stop staring, can’t stop tracing the features of Mao’s tender expressions. He leans his forehead back against Mao’s, closes his eyes and whine, “Ahh~ It’s too much~”

 Mao laughs. There’s definitely words complimenting said laugh, but their meaning is lost in the deep, groggy fog of his mind.

 “This has surpassed spoiling,” Ritsu says, “You’re honestly killing me, Maa~kun, you know.”

 He doesn’t know. “Sorry, sorry,” He repeats endlessly, slowly resting his eyes again. It’s difficult to wake up, he’s starting to understand his friend, and for Ritsu he’s starting to see the world through a whole new lens. The lens that stays up long enough to see the sun rise and set in the same day, which is a little horrifying in retrospect. But when it’s spent longingly criticizing art, it’s not, perhaps, a bad thing to be awake more than an hour or two at a time. Hey, hey, hey this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, right?  
  “Hey, hey!” Ritsu pokes at Mao’s cheeks, “This isn’t fair, spoil me with actions too.”  
  “Sleeping is an act, right?” Mao smiles, smug to say he’s won the argument before it ever started at all. Pulling his arms back to cushion his head, he easily finds himself losing his senses to the cool evening breeze.

 Easily, before feeling pricks to his wrist.

 “Ahh, geez, talk about unfair...” He scrunches his face up, knowing his dear vampires childish acts better than to bother opening his eyes up. Opening his hand, he settles his head onto his shoulder and his palm over the edge of Ritsu’s lips. He knows what Ritsu wants and knows better what his body wants, and only after arguing with himself longer than necessary does he let his eyes open to meet his friends.  
  Ritsu’s tongue is stuck to Mao’s skin as though frozen to an icicle some ephemeral winter morning. It’s become difficult to decipher the difference between a meal and an act of love, Mao smiles into himself in his thoughts. Without reason, in the heat of this frozen moment Mao presses his nose against Ritsu’s, sticks out his tongue against Ritsu’s blood stained own and flinches at the taste. But only for a moment, acting as mature as a bubbly girl who needs a lot more sleep than her love’s permitting. “Idiot,” Mao says, licking the tip of Ritsu’s nose to forget the taste of himself.  
  Sleep tossed to the side and hunger still yet satiated, Ritsu pouts, pulls Mao back with his arms wrapped around his neck. If he had more energy about him, he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to dance like this. To slowly waltz in one another’s existence without a care in the world. Kissing is okay, too, though. Just okay, but not satisfying and eccentric as he’d prefer to be.  
  Mao stains the grass, his sleeves and now Ritsu’s face with his blood, a wound never to be tended to even by his own body. He’s too far gone to remember the bite any more than a shot from the doctor ten-some years ago. Despite their history, it’s impossible for Ritsu to tune himself to his tired childhood friend’s unrefined kisses. And after maybe five excessively sloppy breaches of privacy, Mao laughs against Ritsu’s chest.

 “You’re so warm,” he says. 

 “Hey, aren’t you taking my position?” Ritsu bites back internalized jealousy. Isn’t he the one in need of sleep, to be buried in a coffin somewhere over the hills. “He~y, I’m gonna die here if you keep this up~”  
  He’d get farther arguing with a tree than his friend, he thinks, watching his silent breathes as he rises and falls over Ritsu’s chest. Honestly, even if it’s supposed to be a joke, he’s not really sure how much more of Mao he can handle before dying in a coma of a sweetness overdose. He groans, shutting his eyes; he licks the drying blood of the edge of his lips in defeat.  
  Ritsu fishes through his hair to take back his barrette. Without much effort, as if he’s done it a thousand times before when he’s really only done it twice, Ritsu pulls back Mao’s bangs and clips them in place. His hand slides down Mao’s face slower than rain drops down the passenger side window, with the same refreshing scent, even. 

 “I love you,” He says, the weight of his eye lids pulling him back down to earth from whatever paradise he lost himself in. No, it was more like, “I loooo~ve you,” once. Twice. As many times as it takes, before he, too, finds himself lulled into sleep.


	2. I Don't Wanna Give You The Wrong Impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im weak, you know? I'm a well known #1 Eichi Hater 'round here (lie) but before that, before i knew what enstars was, i remember falling in love with keito and eichi (another keichi gross) because, and i quote, "I want Keito to step on Eichi."  
> still do.
> 
> So, now... Everyone's bullyin' me! They all tryina get me to say i like eichi but i dont!!! I dont want eichi to make me tea or kiss me or tell me im beautiful or oh god.... my heart... Eichi is awful! I hate him!  
> I regret getting into enstars bc I've never hated a character so strongly. What, I don't think about Eichi serenading me, or touching his beautiful pale skin under the moonlight what no never!!!!! I would neVER!!!!  
> But you know what I WOULD do? Write about keito kissing eichi. Lord, do I want nothing more than them to kiss. How can such a beautiful romance exist in our day and age? Hoo, boy, my heart.  
> If Eichi outlives me bc enstars gives me heart failure, well, life wasn't worth living anyway.

  “Oh, Keito... Sir, do you have a moment?”  
  She peaks through the door of the student council room, rather reserved despite herself. Assured of only the two of them, she enters with an cordial smile, one that says _even if I’ll wait for an answer, we both know I’ll have your time regardless._ She waits, clutches a clipboard and notebook to her chest.  
  “I suppose,” He says, resting his head into the palm of his hand. “Actually, I was just about finished here anyway.”  
  “Then I’m glad I caught up with you! I know I’ve been pestering you a lot about this, but...”  
  “Is it another one of your art projects?”  
  She smiles, presses her finger to her lower lip. “You’re too perceptive! I thought it’d lift everyone’s spirits to make gifts for Valentines, you know. In fact, if you’d like to help me cook chocolates, as well...”  
  “Excuse me, but cooking isn’t exactly my strong suit. Besides, if I help, they wouldn’t be gifts from you.”  
  “But you’ll help me draw, won’t you, Teacher~?”  
  With all the annoyance of a headache forming across his face, she approaches him like she’s ready to receive a medal.  
  “Of course, I made you one, too, see! Ta~dah!”  
  Turning over the first page of her notebook, something akin to a child’s doodle hangs from her hands like it belongs on the fridge. Though the art can’t really be called bad, there’s some obvious stains left from holding the pen down too long. And the way her colors just barely knick outside the lines give it an air of cuteness Keito tries not to feel too attached to. She opens up her eyes, looks to him expectantly.  
  “Well, what do you think? Hello~?”  
  “It’s cute.” He says carelessly, quickly interrupts any teasing she was about to let out. “But you really need to practice with your pens, it’s so sloppy.”  
  Keito takes the notebook for himself, sets it down on the table as he flips through the pages.  
  “Oh, you know I already sketched out a few more. Isn’t this one cute, too?” She taps the page he’s on three or four times, “Even though Ritsu wouldn’t appreciate it, I thought Rei would like something with his cute little brother, huh?”  
  He scoffs a bit, smiles inwardly as he thinks of those troublesome vampires. He made  a conscious note to only help her with the least troublesome of boys, frankly helping this girl at all was more than enough struggle for a day. She flips the page, covered in little sea animals and turtles.  
  “Goodness, they’re cute, aren’t they? I almost don’t want to give this one away! Those Marine Club goofballs... I didn’t really understand until I saw these cute babies.”  
  Her face beams as she describes the pages, remembering fondly just how cute and simple her idols could be. Keito slowly begins to warm up to the distraction, as well, cleaning up her scribbles as she rants on and on about all his fellow classmates. Despite his rule over the school, in a way it was odd to reconcile how much he hadn’t known about all the idols prancing about their school. _This transfer student..._ In less than a year she’d already committed the entire school body to memory.  
  “...But you know,” She says, “Hey, are you still listening? Don’t take too much creative liberty, okay!” She pats notebook to get his attention.  
  “I’m listening.”  
  “You know, I haven’t done anything for Mr. Eichi, you know?” Elbows digging into the table, she rests her forehead over her knuckles. “He’s difficult, isn’t he~ I thought since the two of you were friend you could take care of him for me.”  
  Keito stiffens up a bit. Filling in her blanks, she tries to conjure up what kind of art Eichi would like to receive. Perhaps anything would do, perhaps he’d say something like, _“It’s the thought that counts.”_ But digging deep into his memories, he wonders which one would bring Eichi back the warmest feelings.  
  “Are you even listening to me?”  
  “I’m listening.”  
  “Well, you’ll do it, then, won’t you?”  
  When he lifts his head from her art, he swears he sees a fox tail waving behind her. Back and forth, she’s so unbelievably sly, it’s a tad frustrating how deeply she’s weaved everyone into her web, wrapped about her fingers. And what’s more is that even for a fox, her heart is too genuine for ulterior motives.  
  “I suppose if I have the time–”  
  “Oh, you are a life saver, Keito!” She slams her hands to the table, lifts herself up, “Actually, I have to finish those chocolates, so I’ll leave you to it. Good luck!”  
  Before he can say any more, she’s far out the door. Just like a little fox, running away before things get too difficult. That said, she might be the most overworked student he’s met, and to still plan so many difficult events... _Eichi,_ he thinks. He needs to focus.  
  
  Eichi... He’s certainly changed, hasn’t he?  
  Keito has witnessed Eichi’s growth since he was even a child. He wonders, sometimes, if that was the best path for him to take, to follow his Emperor to the ends of the Earth and back.  
  _Take care of him._ He vividly remembers that girls words ring in his ears as he draws elegant lines to her paper. With his mind clouded of him, of Eichi, his art, too, begins to look more like sketches and scribbles than they deserve to. Was this how she felt, drawing heartfelt images for her dear idols? Like scribbles and all the emotions clouded in one’s heart?  
  The image of a lion sits before him. A true king, the kind of leader nature breeds. Having tea with Eichi, he wonders if she sees him like a fierce lion amongst cubs, or if she stares up at him, directly in the eye. Keito sighs, leans his head against his chair. _Take care of him._ He wonders if Eichi’s in good health right now, he hasn’t seen his friend at all today.  
  Does it really take a lioness to lead a pride?  
  Eichi’s smiles have become a bit more amiable than in the past year. Certainly, it’s almost a miracle that boy could make any amends at all before leaving their school. Rather than a tornado, tearing through the interior, perhaps he has earned the right to call himself a king.  
  “Hmm, what’s this?”  
  Keito slams shut the notebook, nearly collides with Eichi’s forehead when he jumps from his seat. Of course it would be Eichi.  
  “That’s the producer’s name there, isn’t it. I didn’t think Keito was capable of being scandalous!”  
  “It’s not like that at all!”  
  Eichi laughs gently, like a soft ocean breeze in the spring time. Keito’s stomach bubbles a little, when he looks over Eichi’s eyes. When he listens to his voice like it were waves in a seashell. And when he realizes how close his face was to Eichi, his face burns as he shoves himself back to his seat.  
  “Our producer asked me to help her with some art, that’s all. But she ran off to take care of her other responsibilities. Nothing scandalous about it.”  
  “She respects your persona quiet a bit, doesn’t she?”  
  Keito looks down at her notebook. It’s true, their actual relationship has been just as bumpy as the roller coaster Eichi’s life has gone through. Through the cover, he can trace that drawing she made especially for him. That he could earn enough of her trust to be considered worth giving a gift to was something he never expected of her, of those troublesome kids that were supposed to tear apart his perfect kingdom. His lips curl up a bit, _just when did I get this sentimental?_ He chides.  
  “So, what were you two drawing. Posters, again? Or was she designing new outfits? She certainly is a jack of all trades, don’t you think.”  
  Eichi walks around the table, gently leans his head over Keito’s as he flips through the pages.  
  “Valentine’s cards. She wanted to give everyone gifts for Valentines.”  
  “Courteous, too.” Eichi smiles. “Oh, which one did she draw for me~”  
   
  “Oh, how scandalous, Keito~ I asked you to draw for Eichi, but I feel like I’m interrupting lovers!”  
  For a producer, the girl could certainly act. Keito sees more than a fox tail waving behind her, looks skeptical at her child’s play before she waltzes up to him.  
  “But it’s okay, I planned for something like this to happen, you know? I made chocolates for Eichi and Keito in the same batch~”  
  Keito’s face will never be free from this burning sensation, He pushes Eichi’s head off of his, carefully like he’s dealing with fine china.  
  “What are you implying, there’s nothing scandalous abou–”  
  She hushes his profuse denial with a bag of chocolates to his lips.    
  “Happy Valentines day, Eichi. Keito. I’m rooting for you, you know!”  
  The fox wags her tail, a smile plastered across her elegant face. Eichi laughs, a gentle hand covering his face.  
  “Fufufu~ Thank you for all your hard work, dear producer.”  
  “Thank you. Of course, it’s still early, let’s work on our drawings later, Master Keito. I’ll leave Eichi in your care.”  
  She sighs, content with her work, before making her way to the door. Keito was wrong in his assumption, that Eichi was anything like a tornado when such a girl wanders their halls. He can already feel a headache forming in the back of his head.  
  
  “So, you made me a Valentines card, then? How romantic of you, Keito.”  
  Eichi, as well. Everyone here could be so overdramatic, but it’s not a bad sight, seeing Eichi’s genuine smile plastered over his face.  
  “So~ Aren’t you going to show me?”  
  Keito picks up the notebook as he rises from his seat.  
  “Not a chance. It’s not finished, it would be ill-suited to show you anything less than perfection.”  
  Eichi waves his hand in front of his face. “If it’s art by ‘Mizuhanome,’ it’s already perfect, don’t you think?”  
  “And chocolates, too? Are those okay for your health?”  
  “You’re avoiding the subject.”  
  “I’m not.”  
  He certainly was, so much so that, distracted by deep denial, he hadn’t realize just how close Eichi’s face returned to his. In fact, he might have believed this close was exactly where Eichi belonged– in his arms.  
  Eichi holds Keito’s face in one hand, traces lines over his cheek bones. Keito hadn’t really given up on his dreams, not really. Not when Eichi is his own unobtainable art piece, bringing the world a whole new light it hadn’t known it was missing.  
  Not everything is elegant, of course. When Eichi first kisses Keito, he has a bad habit of missing his target. There’s many words for Eichi’s kisses, but graceful isn’t exactly the first. But they all taste the same, like fire works in the air when they fall back to earth. Like everything sweet and bitter in the world dripping off your tongue at once. Like a drawing, for your first Valentine and last Valentine you ever had.  
  “Not everything has to be perfect.”  
  Eichi says, over Keito’s lips. Those words resonate deep within Keito’s heart, like he’d been waiting decades to hear them and even longer to process their meaning. Keito smiles, with his free hand he grips tightly onto Eichi’s. To never lose this moment, to keep this ephemeral love in front of him just a few seconds longer. Eichi really had changed, and with that the soft feeling of his hands, too, had changed. Felt warmer, more inviting to be his. And when he caressed the fingers of his friends, he thought how wonderful it must be, to feel a ring on this hand would be.


	3. Make You Fall Real Hard In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever just... Listen to Maneater and realize it’s effectively the song about everyone’s unhealthy relationship with Ensemble Stars... Make you buy hard, indeed.
> 
> You know, I don’t really have to try to fall for Anzu ships. Anzu is strong. Anzu could fucking murder me and I’d be like “Nice, cool. I deserved that.” Anzu could step on every single God damn one of these boys and I’d feel like it was completely warranted.  
> But she’d never step on Hokuto. Hokuto is a good boy, too good. The moment it hit me Hokuto is mad crushing I just.... I felt..... Some kind of warm, pure happiness bubble up in my weak heart. Such juvenile love! How could I ever! Taint this!  
> I’m happy. Happy they’re in love. I hope they go out on a date soon. In the meantime, Anzu, feel free to continue stepping all over these boys, God damn.

  Her hands are rougher than he expected, more calloused and matured than his would ever come to be. He hadn’t thought, how dainty his profession had been compared to everything her small, little hands accomplished daily. God, how ignorant they all had to be, absolutely devoured by her every word, taken hook, line, sinker.  
  _Who cares,_ she’d say. Said. On more than one occasion.  
  He rubs his thumb over her knuckle, wants to justify himself in going further. Falling deeper, into some unexplored abyss until he stops breathing, stops feeling. Maybe a bit immature, when he’s only just begun to feel at all. Is her hair soft? Is her body light, like a feather? Is the space around her waist warm? All questions he has the answers too, he finds himself longing to experiment again in spite of that. Prove his prior beliefs wrong, each and every new experience he finds himself partaking in.  
  
  His first insecurity was not being good enough. _This explanation must be perfect,_ he outlined every detail on three separate papers for her. Would have done a fourth one if the bell hadn’t run at such an inopportune time. Each time he looks into her eyes, on stage, behind the scenes, in the halls when they aren’t even looking at him, he can feel it in the pit of his stomach. The inertia, like being trapped in a roller coaster against his will, he feels his heart drop straight into the acid of his stomach and melt away before he can even say her name.  
  _Who cares,_ she mused, breath lost on his ears, damp and dry at the same time.  
  His second insecurity was how much sweat dripped off his hand when it held onto hers. What’s more pathetic, than a boy who can’t keep his blood from running cold around some girl he doesn’t even really know. Some girl who took everything he thought he knew and turned it on it’s side. But he never flubs his words, he owes her that much, at least. He tells her, himself, how easy he wants everything to be. A smooth transition over a bumpy, ill-finished road.  
  He frets over her a bit much, wants to take care of her and fall right into her arms at the same time. She walks over every single one of their unspoken desires, spoils them to no end while holding all their cards in her hand. Somewhere, deep down inside, he wants to know what it must feel like to look in her eyes. To look at her shining, bright eyes and be looked at back like the stars in the clear sky.  
  _Who cares,_ she laughed, pushed at his shoulder when he confessed to relying too much on her.  
  
  Sensitive isn’t the first word he’d use to describe him, that’s what he would have said last year, anyway. Love builds slowly, like boiling water, and for once he doesn’t mind wasting a bit of time weaving through the waves. She takes her time in every step, juggling everyone’s needs in one hand, but that’s never enough. He wants to go one step further, beyond everyone’s expectations, to the places time can’t wait.  
  She bites her lips, sometimes. Skirts around the troubles of being the only girl in a field of fools who only _look_ like they bite back. When he tells her to take breaks, too, she tells him to lean on her shoulders twice as frequently. He wonders if she knows the concept of sleep, of being alone.  
  He can’t stand that about her, so he says when just being in the same room puts a smile over his face. Pushing her bangs to the side, he’s only a little shocked her hair can be this soft, that her forehead is sticky and rugged over his perfect hands.  
  For a girl, he comes to realize, she’s allotted a lot of freedom to look like such a mess. It’s an idols duty to look perfect. Act perfect. Perform perfect. Or, to put it another way, their dearest producer is the only one allowed to be real. For the rest of them, to even partially stray from such a rigid routine could meet their end. To put so much of that freedom of hers into them, it must be a real hassle?  
  “You work too hard,” She chastised him, once, patting his stomach twice. “Let’s have lunch. You’re hungry, right? I’m dying!” She dramatically rests her hand over her forehead. Hokuto smiles, remembers fondly how sweet and soft her voice once was.  
  He grabs her hand, no sweat this time, “I’d say I work exactly as much as I’m expected to. You’re the workaholic here.” She drags him by the finger tips, how annoying that she’s moved up in the world to his tour guide.  
  Spinning, switching hands to face him, she responds whimsically. Or, perhaps he should say, untouchably. “Oh, Mr. Tutor, tell me something I don’t know.”  
  Hokuto brings her fingers to his lips, closing his eyes he hums, “Something you don’t know, huh? Is that even possible?”  
  “There’s always going to be secrets only you know. That’s the privilege of being a man, you know?” She raises her index finger to him, presses her lips to it, the single petite barrier always blocking the two of them from each other. “Don’t tell me those secrets, okay?”  
  
  _Who caaaaares,_ she’d waved her hand in thin air, elongated every note of every word. She’s no idol, but he enjoys the sound of her voice. She’s like a big blotch of ink on his perfectly competed art, leaking straight onto the table. Without beauty, grace, or a brain to think she’s formed a masterpiece of so many misfit idols. He can’t help but ask aloud, if she’s real. When his heart beats extra loud, he feels entitled to reach for her before she’s gone. Say things he’s never said to himself, before.  
  “Who cares,” he says, staring at her restless, sleeping face. “I care too much, is that it?” He droops his head into his arms, on her desk, self conscious like even the plants hanging in the room have something to say. “Even when you work so hard, I want to rely on you more and more. What a pain we all are, I’m sorry...”  
  That wasn’t it, was it? That’s not even close to all the things he wants to say to her. He retracts it all, starts back from square one.  
  “Who cares,” He says, staring at the slightest hint of drool leaking off her face. “Do you think I...? Is it okay to be direct?” Already making mistake after mistake. Why is it so easy to fall apart infront of such a frail girl? He sighs, swallows his words, and starts again.  
  “I want you to care, too.” He says, gently, as he wipes her face with his finger. It’s not that she’s particularly detached, or even impartial, but so superior in everything she does that he feels like a wanderer beneath her fields. She’s said the same, about them; that idols are only as untouchable as the barriers they put before them, maybe she hasn’t quite surpassed them after all. “Is this...?”  
  _Who cares,_ she whispered, once out of the blue when they were alone with each other. _Who cares if it’s love._ It’s such a childish sentiment, something only a teenager would let loose carelessly. A lot of people would care, an image is a hard thing to repair. “We can run away together, you know,” She teased him, winks at him. How simple she always makes the world seem.  
  “I want to be an idol, you know. I don’t plan on giving up on that dream anytime soon.”  
  At first glance, her laugh seems so cute and innocent, but beneath the surface lies a harsh judgement he can’t really decipher. It sticks into him like a knife to his heart, he wants to be the first and last to ever hear her so impotent.  
  “Then, if you really do love me, promise me you’ll achieve that dream with me. As your... Hmmm~” She twirls her hair between thin fingers, realizing how selfish she’s being. “No, as Trickstar’s _producer,_ I won’t leave any of your sides, but...”  
  When she fumbles her words, she doesn’t think twice about it. She’s already forgotten what she had for breakfast before lunch, the memory taking up too much space. “What I’m saying is, do you trust me?” She says, reaching her hand out to him. He lightens his gaze on her, tilts his head like he’ll never come to a solid conclusion.  
  “Of course.”  
  _She cares,_ he reflects, _as much as she tries not to._ Maybe it should have been more obvious, that she’d do everything to keep his eyes on her, from the first time she treated him _(them,)_ to her food. He never meant to give a name to this lost little kitten, never meant to grow attached, but he can’t call it a regret, either.  
  “Thank you,” He whispers, to himself, pulling gently on her ear. He knows it’s hardly the place, resting his head on her desk, but he can’t keep himself from drifting away when she’s been sleeping so peacefully. “I... _We’_ ll be in your care.”


	4. Recommendation From a Magazine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I thought the reason I'd absolutely loathe Izumi was because he was an annoying y-dere. Like, I immediately tuned that boy out, but it turns out I missed an even worst aspect of his character. Izumi's not just a y-dere, oh no. He's also.... a fucking Brocon are you serious?! "Yuu~kun~ Yuu~kun~ love your oniichan~" what is this sh*t!!!!!!!!  
> Okay, listen. Me an Izumi, we have a history, y'see? I ended up learning about Izumi way back when Valkyrie got announced, back when I still only wiki'd/googled characters, right? A friend of mine said people might not like Shuu and Mika bc possible y-dere and told me to look up Izumi for that matter. So, the first thing I learn about him is he's that y-word, specifically that he, uh... Threatened to... Throw the protagonist off a roof? Huh...  
> Now contextually, that exchange is actually pretty fucking hilarious. Like, the fact Anzu asks Makoto why he hates Izumi after the stalking, perving, and literally threatening to murder her, and him! Is fucking hilarious! Anzu has balls of steel.  
> So, naturally I ended up shipping the two, you know? I think people think I'm joking when I say Anzu is the healthiest partner for Izumi, but I'm not, you know!!! Love is pure!! Oh God... Oh God, I'm terrible.  
> You know, I also remember one of the voice actor comments being like, "finally! an idol boy game for men!" And I agree. Perhaps it is only natural that I, heterosexual boy that I am, can't stop coming up with the worst ensemble stars het ships. Why else would I play a gross girl game, ri~ght? I definitely, definitely don't want to date the boys, you know!  
> Anyway, I've rambled enough. Please enjoy the purest love of all...

  _Ah, that’s right. Such small hands,_ the kind that belong right in mine. It’s such a pain, I feel like I’m suffocating a tiny kid like this, but isn’t it only natural? For a big brother to spoil his darling juniors? Who else is going to take care of them, if not for me? It would be trouble to send them off into the world without showing them just how cruel the world can be.  
  And oh, can I be cruel.  
  But I’m not. I’m nothing, if not a kind and benevolent older brother. Surely, even a half-baked producer such as herself could see that much.  
  She makes herself too easy, easy to be comfortable with and easy to tear down. Call it diligence, perseverance, or the like, but personally I think she’s compensating a bit much for the person she wishes she could be. How pathetic. Right, right. It’s not cute, if she thinks it is it’s really not.  
  She pats my head like a dog you just can’t scold. Passive-aggressively. Sometimes I have the energy to voice very necessary comments, but tonight I remain quiet. _Maybe she’s found an off switch,_ wouldn’t that be nice.  
  She’s small. She could probably eat a bear and still be half my size, such a nuisance, you know? There are times she offers me her homecooked snacks and treats, and honestly what kind of horrible big brother would refuse? Not when she’s so spoiled she can’t take “No,” for an answer. Well, that must be partly my fault, too. I haven’t been keeping a good enough eye on her, have I?  
  “You’re skin’s going to end up even uglier if you keep staying up this late, you know?”  
  Of course she wouldn’t. Otherwise her face wouldn’t be this dreadful to look at as is, She frets over meaningless stacks of worthless paper, her obnoxious inability to keep track of time rearing it’s ugly head.  
  “Oh, Izumi. Sorry. Is it that late already?”  
  Her body shakes when she stands, maybe too suddenly, but she’s learned better how to keep her balance, at least. Diligence, perseverance, and the likes; as much as I hate to admit anything our idiot King has to say is right, just this once I’ll say it bothers me she’s everywhere, always. How much harder do you need to work for a bunch of deadweights, anyway?  
  “You can’t sleep here,” I say, self-consciously tacking on, “I’m not really sure why you always seem to want to.”  
  “Well, it seems to be working well for Ritsu, doesn’t it?”  
  “You really want to follow that idiots lead?”  
  “Hey now, who’s the one who’s always going on about, ‘respecting one’s seniors,’ was it? He is my elder, after all.”  
  Worthless, ugly, and smart ass to boot. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe she _is_ a jack-of-all-trades after all. At the very least, she’s mastered the art of pushing an older brother’s buttons, but I know better how to deal with children.  
  What a dreadful combination. Sweat that smells too sweet, tangled up hair that feels too soft, dark brown eyes that lack any depth at all unless beneath the sunlight.  
  “You’re so ugly.”  
  She hangs off my arm as if she has any right to be there, mumbling something incredibly stupid before saying, “And whateverrrrr, what would you know, anyway?”  
  That grin on her face is unbearable. I want nothing more than to wipe it clean off. Why are these kids so damn disrespectful? Her lips are less rigid than her personality, at least.  
  “I’m not carrying you home, so quit hanging off me like a child. It’s so annoying.”  
  Her laugh is so unbelievably insufferable, like a cat that won’t stop meowing for attention, such a damn nuisance. _But I didn’t think she’d actually let go of my arm,_ which is too good for her, anyway, really.  
  “It’s fine, we aren’t going home, after all.”  
  “Excuse me?”  
  God, she just goes on and on, making decisions without ever considering anyone’s feelings. Doesn’t she realize I need to sleep early? Of course some nasty average girl wouldn’t know anything about taking care of her health. The split ends of her hair shine quite brightly beside the setting sun.  
  She doesn’t explain a damn thing, either. Smirks like a witch without a place to be, and stupid me follows her lead. It’s gotta be some kind of spell that convinces me to do anything she says, or doesn’t say, only occasionally alongside compensation. Is she that ignorant to how much her tab is filling up?  
  Compensation varies. It used to be so simple but now I can’t even pinpoint my needs and desires that she seems to have all figured out. I reach for her hand and she throws them in the air without giving me even the slightest time of day. Which is fine. It’s hot and I’m starting to sweat an immediately unreasonable amount while still not knowing what she wants from me.  
  “Have you been spending too much time with our idiot King? I feel sorry for you, honestly. If he’s bothering you, then...”  
  Without asking, she drags me into some convenience store I’ve never been too, one that’s hard to breath in. She grabs a magazine off a rack without even looking back, too casual. Flipping through the pages with a mission in mind, making exaggerated and baffling expressions from time to time. Turns, down another aisle, naturally walking backwards and only occasionally bumping into stands. She’s certainly lucky to have a knight like me, who won’t complain and catch the things she breaks.  
  “Oh... Oh my, this is terrible. This is a tragedy!” She’s so loud.  
  “What is it?” I say, in a voice that betrays my complete and utter disinterest.  
  “This!” She pats the page she’s on hurriedly, before turning it my way.  
  “This is...”  
  “According to this, we are, in fact, one-hundred percent compatible. Sca~ry.” She shakes her head at me, and God could I have beat her down there. Not for making me worry, or anything, she’s far too annoying to waste time into worrying over. Instead, I stare, blank-faced and annoyed all the same. “See, making faces like that is what makes you attractive, right?”  
  “Only annoying girls believe stupid quizzes like that.”  
  “I am an annoying girl, though.” She shuts the magazine, only then that I recognize the cover. Not that she gives me any time to say that, hovering her hand over mine before walking away. _Whatever_. Whatever.  
  “Do you want something to drink?”  
  
  Water.  
  It’s always water, but she points around every other drink in the store like they matter. One water’s no better than any of the others but she scrutinizes them all the same. I could make a statement, argue all the health benefits water has for an idol, a model, a singer at large, but she’d dismiss them all without a care in the world. Say something like, _live a little._ Enjoy life, a little.  
  Her drinks are always average, things that sound expensive when they shouldn’t be, all for compensation, I presume. They don’t even taste good, but they look like they should, when her lips hover gracefully over the tip of the can. That must be her way of distracting me from the fact the sun’s long set since we entered the store. What a damn waste of my time.  
  “Are you jealous? You should have at least got a flavored one to match your personality.”  
  “What are we still wandering around for? I could have taken you home before the sunset.”  
  She points with her index finger to the sky, just before taking another drink. “Look,” She says, the words reverberating off the can. Always so perceptive, isn’t she? I hadn’t noticed, how red the sky looked before. “Sign of the apocalypse. So we should spend time together now before the end of the world, right?” Now that had to be a joke, our idiot King’s antics aside, there’s no way she would have foresaw the red moon in the sky tonight. “Now that one I got out of a novel sometime ago, not a magazine. Romantic, right?”  
  Every smirk becomes an invitation, but she’s like an unobtainable mouse fleeing to her hole. My face burns with humility, or humidity, and enough is enough. If I can’t hold her hand or steal her kiss than the least I can do is pretend to be a proper knight.  
  “H-hey, I thought you weren’t going to carry me?”  
  I should win an award for the amount of self control it takes to not respond to something that stupid. And even that I have her right where I want her, I don’t take a step forward from there. There are places I’d rather spend the last of my days and whatever she had in mind is no longer worth considering.  
  “You’re heavy,” I huff.  
  She laughs, some incredibly sleep induced laugh, bumps her incredibly small head against my cheek. _Cute_. But it wasn’t a joke, she’s really, incredibly heavy and she’s just making it more annoying to take care of her. Really, what a pain.  
  “Should I carry you? You must not be that heavy, after all. In fact, since joining this academy I’m pretty sure I’ve gained a lot of muscle, see?”  
  Lifting up her arms, she flexes as if there’s anything there at all. Okay, there is something, more than one might expect her to be hiding beneath twelve layers of clothing, but really it’s hardly enough to carry a man.  
  “Well, you’re good to me at any size, so...” She wastes my time everytime she opens her mouth. There had to be an extra ten pounds added to someone who falls asleep, too, that’s what I thought when she rested her head onto my shoulder. Dead weight. “Only stupid boys take advice from magazines.”  
   
  I hate her. I loathe her. _I love her._  
  The signs she hands out are so annoying, so obnoxious and unreadable. I can’t wrap my head around a woman’s desires, they’re so pithy and petty, and don’t say for a second like mine are any different. They are.  
  A Brother’s love is genuine and simple to understand, so even his stupidest of juniors can receive it. Yet, I can never seem to get through to this girl who makes no sense. No matter how desperate my love gets, like a hand reaching for salvation from a man drowning in the ocean, it’s like she’s always pulling farther and farther away.  
  I hate her. I loathe her. “I love you,” I say.  
  “Honesty is the best policy, that what my mother used to say.” She mumbles, reaching her hands up to pat my head, smiling. I didn’t think she was really that awake, but it’s pointless to play it off now.  
  “I honestly love you, then.” She breathes silently for a minute. Like, 60 full on wasted seconds of my life. There’s no possible way she fell asleep that fast, I know she’s awake but of course she’d go and ruin my rare sense of generosity like a child. “Hey, say something already.”  
  “Huh? You were expecting a response?”  
  God, she’s so _unbelievably annoying._ Who says something like that and doesn’t expect compensation? This tab of hers just keeps growing, she’d best repay this debt soon before I’m gone. There’s really not this many benevolent seniors in the world, y’know?  
  She opens her eyes, slowly. There’s beauty in the languid, like gentle ocean waves to the shoreline. _Ah, that’s right. Such small lips_ , the kind that belong right over mine. Gentle flushes of desire are all the response I need, I suppose I can let tonight slide just this once. But that requires accepting a moment like this is going to end. It’s not, right?  
  It’s the world that’s ending.


	5. Anyway, Here's MaoRitsu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... Was a very difficult piece to write. I thought it’d be nice to try writing from a new perspective and yet.... I am no good! I can’t write for three people at once, you know?! Auugh! My writing, it’s no good! I am a sham!  
> Well... It’s fine. I really love MaoRitsu, it’s frankly the only ship I have for the two which is pretty rare for me... I have no issues with multishipping, but some pairs just really click, y’know? That’s how I feel for MaoRitsu. Plus, I’m a sucker for childhood friends lol  
> Well, that said... I do love Anzu and Ritsu’s friendship, I don’t really think much of Mao tho... I like how Anzu and Ritsu's friendship goes from, "Geez, you're so loud please just die," too "You're so quiet and nice let's talk about feelings~" wwww Truly, a match made in heaven.  
> Anyway, here's wonder.... I mean, MaoRitsu. Again!

  There are some things only a girl can notice. The gentle feelings of the ocean waves between sand riddled toes and how that feeling transfers from your toes to the insides of your stomach. Those boys will never notice, the things they do to themselves, to one another, to simple strangers on the streets.  
  I’ll never get the opportunity to hide behind the stage. My ears are still ringing, not from the songs they sang but the ever present screaming from young girls amidst the audience. I couldn’t imagine, my voice is too small for those things, it’s heavy on my shoulders to remember I’m the only one they’re hearing.  
  _You really love him, don’t you?_  
  At first, I thought it was a bit of a joke, but I should really know better. There are boys here who joke and boys here who can’t seem to be honest but Ritsu, he’s neither of those types. Maybe he’s too honest, really. Too serious. I should have taken him seriously, when he told me to die.  
  But then, would I really understand the meaning of dead weight?  
  “I like your hair better this way, even though it’s so messy.” I say, combing my fingers through his bangs.  
  Waking up extra early, just to wake him up. Dressing him, giving him food, down-right spoiling him and all that extra effort just to get him to go to school. Now if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.  
  But there are boys who can’t be honest with themselves, afterall. That seems to be the number one ugly trait of an idol that goes completely unnoticed by those around them. I suppose everyone needs someone to tell them their flaws, but these boys couldn’t even handle that much, I’m certain.  
  Despite that, I say, “You really love him, don’t you?”  
  Those are the kind of subjects he’d get up in arms about, completely and unnecessarily flustered. “Whatever you think it is, it’s not like that.” He’d say. Of course it’s not.  
  That’s always the cases with these boys, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  
  
  “I wrote you a song,” He said, some long forgotten night we all ended up together; the right kind of place at the right kind of time.  
  “Actually, I did.” I announce without invitation, or rather sarcastically. Mao blushes, bashfully rubs the back of his head at the brutality of my statement. Not that his heart isn’t in it, our odd nights spent together over dinner wasted in songs and the like. Picking our favourite songs about love and losses and teenage drama all filtered through a fan’s memory of how they sounded back then. Isn’t that what loves all about? What is love, if not the sensation of your favorite song playing out of the blue, and every tear of every thought of the past we forgot.  
  Sometimes, I forget there isn’t much of a past between us. I lean the back of my head into his shoulder blade, laughing; less like a friend, but rather like the family I’ve grown to love. How fleeting, love can be, that it hadn’t even taken a year for me to feel I’d been born into the largest of families.  
  If it weren’t for boys, I wonder, if I could ever have learned to speak this loudly.  
  Now, if I didn’t learn to boast, I’d never get to share my day with Mao stealing my spotlight at dinner. And if I never spoke sternly, Ritsu would fall asleep at the most inopportune times. Those are the kinds of balances I’ve learned to juggle in my daily life, it’s hard to imagine that won’t last very long, will it?  
  Mao tunes his guitar a bit, actually I might have called that unsightly back then. It feels so wrong, seeing an idol hold an instrument, though none of them really lack the talent. It’s a truly horrible bias to assume, falling into the fantasy that idols aren’t real people, after all. But that’s what I thought must be the case, and I do regret it now, that my boys are going to grow up without their sense of self for this kind of love. Rather, that they will exchange love for one another for love of entertainment, could that kind of love even be called “Love," at all?  
  Maturity can be saved for another day. After all, I who can’t be stopped from overworking, I should take breaks, too. Carefree and simplistic, that is what boys are. In that case, is there anything more lovely and falling for the vibrations of sound? Vocal chords and guitar riffs and high pitched piano keys, those simple aspects which music can be broken down to are truly special in their own right. Especially when they resonate with love.  
  His voice sounds angelic when he sings, if only because you want it to. For once, I can see the strength of my own work, despite how embarrassing it had been to write. That moment I get to hear an idol, of all things, shamelessly chant every word with the same passion my pencil had, I think that is what a producer lives for. And for Mao, who could believe in every word, my feelings have become his own.  
  This late in the night, it’s the only time we can have Ritsu’s undivided attention, without the fear of him sleeping. I can’t help feeling myself doze off, still. Seeing Ritsu peacefully waste away his days has always put me at ease, but this is the first time I could unwind without losing all feeling in my legs, arms, and face.  
  That’s just how nights would go, with nothing better to do between the three of us. Compared to the hustle and bustle of daily school life, how calm the evening passes us by without any consideration was a necessary change of pace. Before I’d known it, this, too, had just become a part of my life, without any reason to it at all.  
  Before I’d known it, I’d become a spectator of true love.  
  
  If I don’t take my time with everything I do, I might have missed it. Might have missed once daily confessions and ever the earnest sensation of a lover’s hand in another’s. Though I may write the songs for them to sing to one another, there’s some words the background composer can’t convey. It’s difficult to trust all of them to take responsibility, to improvise and spill their feelings to an audience they’ll never truly know, but each and every day they exceed my expectations.  
  There are sounds that will never make sense, and words I’ll never in my life time think to myself, and love I’ll never feel, all reverberating off Mao’s throat. Without even an object of affection, I, too, can feel myself falling in love.  
  Somehow, I’ve found myself as the number one lap pillow of ever-sleepy Ritsu, but I can’t imagine there’s a better place for him to belong than with Mao. I’d never be so bold to say that, the best I can do for all of them is simply hold their hands along the way, but maybe I don’t have to say anything at all to get those things across.  
  _Could it be that you’re jealous of me? Is that Mao’s jealous face showing?_  
  He would never tell me, even if it were just the two of us, but that’s what I love most about him. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t tease him at every opportunity? His vehement denial is truly the greatest gift of all, too endearing to not want to hear again and again.  
  _I love him, is that what you want me to say? Isn’t that only natural for friends?_  
  That’s as far as I can get, when it’s just the two of us, but a friend’s never given a friend a mix tape. A friend doesn’t stay up all night with a girl writing songs for a boy. The notion is baffling, that a worker bee can be this insecure.  
  But he’s slipped up, before, half awake and drooling on my desk. _I love him, I really do,_ he said to me.  
  
 My dreams become like poetry between the two of them, like a CD I’ve left on repeat in the middle of the night. Mao leans his head back over my shoulder, throwing me off balance and getting us both to laugh. The ceiling glows with childhood aspirations, I had almost forgotten my own before hearing my favorite song from him. _Something, something, something_ about love.  
  I sigh at the thought, the taste of the scent of something far too sweet eating away at all my senses. Ritsu’s sweets, disgusting to look at but a delight to taste, is that how your first kiss is supposed to feel? Through what feels like a thousand miles apart I hear the echos of Ritsu’s mumbles, between a song and a desire to sleep just a few minutes longer. He’s such a talented boy, even when he’s not quite there, the duality of their voices clash more like the way you might sing along to the radio in a car, until you’re too embarrassed to go on.  
  _You and Ritsu are made for each other, after all, but I wonder? I can’t seem to picture you two singing on stage together at all._  
  I’d laughed back then, but perhaps it’s selfish to keep something so true to life to myself. Rather, I wonder if I’m really worthy of seeing a boy’s love each and every night. For once, maybe I’m the spoiled one.  
  Sometimes I think of how odd the concept of a band can be. The front-runner, singer of a band, is always singing those gushy songs about some everygirl they knew in high school. Their lover, their crushes, their wives and all – who is it the other members are thinking of? The drummer, the guitarist, the keyboardist, the one’s who must get their feelings across with sound alone... How lonely, it must be, yet so genuine for so many people to live in sync with one another.  
  How truly lucky I must be, to be so synchronized with the friends I’ve come to make as a producer. For these boys, honest or not, I would go out of my way to draw out every feeling they’ve ever felt, like your favorite song you forgot all about.  
  And if that isn’t love, I wonder what really is.


	6. I'm Surprised That You've Never Been Told Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (That you’re lovely! And you’re perfect! And that somebody wants you!)
> 
> You know... This might be the only fic in this series without Anzu in it.  
> Well, that's a lie, but I hadn't noticed how much I loved Anzu until recently. That's a rant for another time, let's talk about Mika. I love Mika, yknow? He's my very precious boy. But he doesn't know how wonderful and precious he is!!! It hurts!!! I want him to love himself and smile and !!!! Augh!!!!!  
> Arashi is another case.... I have a difficult time explaining..... The feelings I have for Arashi.... I love him and I don't? Or rather, he's pretty average, isn't he? But I don't blame him for loving himself... If I were that gorgeous, I'd love myself, too. Now that's a good word for what I feel for Arashi. He sure is gorgeous, huh? See, if I saw him I'd be like "Yeah, now that's a model, there." I can relate to him on a lot of things, so it's not all bad.
> 
> I guess that's all... I've rewrote the notes for this chapter a thousand times but I'm too tired to go on, so... Enjoy pure girls love...

  “See~ Mika, for everytime you say something bad about yourself you have to take me to dinner, too, okay~?”  
  Her smile is like an angel descending from heaven to earth, glowing off her skin brighter than the sun reflecting off the windows. That skin, that looks unrealistically soft like porcelain if you can ignore the powder that clings to your fingertips after just one touch. Double it if you touch her twice.  
  She leans over her friend, tightens her less than elegant hug around his thin figure.  
  “Speaking of, you know... It’s about lunch, isn’t it? You’re going to treat me for calling yourself stupid again, aren’t you?”  
  She nuzzles her face into Mika’s neck, smiles coyly preemptively deciding she’s won before Mika’s given a chance to respond. She giggles, with her nose pressed against him.  
  “Hmm~ Mika you smell awful, did you even change clothes this morning?”    
  “Uhh...” He pulls out his shirt, looking at it in lighthearted thought. “I just grabbed th’ first thing ah saw.”  
  Mika smiles, pulls away from Naru’s suffocating hold.  
  “Hehe~ You’re insulting your clothes when you do that, you know? At least hang them up.”  
  Arashi pokes at Mika’s cheeks. Despite their close relationship, Mika’s never managed to inherit Arashi’s clean femininity. No, worst than that, for a boy who makes clothes as much as he wears them, he was too careless with his own casual wears. How irresponsible, for a boy who hardly hassles with boys, he doesn’t do much to appeal to girls, either.  
  “If I hang ‘em up, they’ll take up too much space. I don’t wanna be a burden, ya know?”  
  “Still, you should have at least one good outfit, don’t you think? I want to see Mika cleaned up, let’s go shopping together, okay?”  
  “Wouldn’ that be a’waste? I mean, I really wanna wear Mentor’s outfits, but... I’m gettin’ pretty good at makin’ my own, too~ Yeah?”  
  Mika smiles before pulling out his phone.  
  “Look, see, ain’t this one nice! I finished it last night!”  
  “It’s cute like you are, yeah~” Arashi runs her hand through Mika’s hair before gripping his hands in hers, “But we can make you cuter, too~”  
  For all intents and purposes, Arashi adds a tally to her win streak, dragging Mika by the arm.  
  “H-hey~ Nnnaru~”  
  
  Arashi stretches her hands behind her back, groans a bit before taking a breathe. The air is kind of inbetween too hot and too cold, but it’s a good kind of feeling that dizzies your mind a little. Mika sighs, shocks himself one too many times with the excess static electricity he’s accumulated over the past hour.  
  “Oh Mika...” Arashi presses her fingers over her lips, hums a little and says, “You really need to gain some weight. For as much as you eat you're thin as a rail, you know. It’s, like, totally impossible to buy clothes for you, y’know?”  
  She opens her right eye, expecting to catch Mika at her side, but there’s nothing but a crowd of strangers passing by. Looks to the left, from behind, everywhere inbetween and smiles a little when she doesn’t see him. _Just like him,_ the scaredy cat, to hide away from the world.  
  Music is loud throughout the area, yet completely drowned out by the people and their idle conversations. Despite the forecast of rain, the district is bustling and shops are filled from entrance to exit. Mika’s never been one to take well to crowds, a gentle wallflower developing beneath the surface. Even on stage, an idol of all things, he hides behind the crowd.  
  She peeks over two or three clothing racks before spotting him, thinks he probably wanted to startle her again, but he looks a bit enthralled, actually. Enthralled with the clothes and the hands that made them. Her lips curl, she presses the tip of her toe to his back, “Hey cutie~” She says, hanging off the rack.  
  “ _Bwah–_ Hey! Hey!” He waves his arms around his head as he falls over, “Stop scarin’ me like that, _you–!”_  
  She leans forward, laughing, “You just make it so easy, you know.”  
  Pushing past the densely packed clothing, she falls into his arms. Nuzzles her face against his cheeks. “Honestly, I just make you, like, extra cute, right?” She smiles against his forehead. Mika sighs, leans back before settling his lips on Arashi’s.  
  “Honestly, y’re like, such a pain in my butt, actually.”  
  “But you like me, right!”  
  “No way~ Not even a li’l bit~” He sticks out his tongue to her before they’re both laughing again.  
  He doesn’t get any new clothes, because they don’t fit right. Not just in size, but in debt as well. Mika refuses to get anything he can’t afford, which closes most doors except the front when you’re pinching for pennies as is, it seems.  
  
  The two take leisure by a fountain, throwing coins and making empty wishes outloud for eachother. The kind that won’t come true in a million years, but they let them be known to every stranger that cares just as little.  
  In time, Arashi takes to Mika’s face, inspects him like fruit before speaking her mockingly serious critiques.  
  “Mika, you’re face is, like, so boring, you know. You should, y’know, totally let me play with it, you know?”  
  He says okay. Thinks about saying anything but, but he says, “Okay.”  
  Brushes are dry. Rigid. God, how rough the bristles tingle against his skin. He reaches his hand, now and again to scratch, quickly swatted away by Arashi’s.  
  “Stop it, you’re going to smudge it.”  
  She looks so professional, the softness of her fingertips mixing the gentle dusts and powders make the aggravation beneath his skin worth enduring. He feels a pound heavier, maybe a pound healthier, and when he’s allowed to open his eyes, just the sight of her intense gaze boils the blood beneath his cheeks. Beats up the drum of his heart, he feels like an embarrassment under anyone’s stare, but double goes for her.  
  “You’re eyes really compliment your face, you know.” She says. Knows he probably doesn’t want to hear it, but after a minute of silence decides it’s safe to continue. “Look at how cute your eyeshadow is!” She holds up her mirror, “Like, the colors and stuff, see. Like, how I made it match your eye color, see, see!”  
  Mika stares into the mirror like he’s seeing a stranger for the first time. Actually, this wouldn’t be the first or last time Arashi sneaked her way into playing with his face, but prior to tonight that look was never designed for Mika to wear. Never really looked right, but he never frowned at Arashi’s genuine talent.  
  He doesn’t really know what to say, or how to feel. Doesn’t do much of anything but gawk, really, so he starts laughing instead.  
  “That’s not me,” He laughs harder, about falls into the water before Arashi grabs his hand.  
  “Liar. That’s one-hundred percent my perfect, beautiful Mika.”  
  He stops laughing, only for a second, to seriously look at Arashi like he’s never heard her say those words before. Arashi was full of those kinds of unnecessary compliments, but this would be the first and not last time she could make Mika blush with words.  
  “I like you,” he says.  
  Didn’t really mean to, he hadn’t even realized he said the words outloud, but he wants her to know. Wants her to say something sappy, and out of character.  
  “You’re such an idiot, you know.”  
  She smiles, pulls his hand to her lips.  
  “But I guess I have room to love you, too.”  
  He giggles a bit, feels a little too special for his own good. Yeah, good is a good word to describe that feeling. The air is good. The art splattered across his face is good. And Arashi is good, too good, really. This moment is too good to stay like this, he thinks.  
  Mika falls on top of Arashi, pulls her to the side until they’re both deep into the fountain’s water.  
  “ _Ahh~_ It’s so cold!”  
  “It feels nice,” Mika bellows. It’s the loudest he’s ever been in his entire life.  
  “It’s, like, the worst, actually.” Arashi laughs, rubs her sleeve on Mika’s cheek. “You look horrifying, your makeups all smudged up.”  
  Mika is the first to get up, leaves his hand for Arashi for a few moments before she takes his offer to leave. It’s a good feeling, drowning in long forgotten wishes by the sea. She doesn’t want to forget it, even if she probably will for the next five years.  
  “Come on, you can stay with me tonight to clean up.” She says.  
  And he says okay. Thinks about saying anything but, but he says “Okay.”  
  
  Mika can feel snot drizzle off his nose as he ruffles his hair again with a damp towel. He falls onto Arashi’s bed, stains her shirt with his ever dripping nostrils. Arashi’s shirts, when he’s capable of smelling, he notes they smell like intense perfume and immodesty. He thinks it’s a little too self conscious, but maybe that’s because he hasn’t done laundry in two some weeks.  
  “I put your clothes in the drier, so you can leave if you want to-”  
  “No, it’s okay,” He interrupts, “I haven’t been away in a while.”  
  He takes a deep breath. The redolent stench of fresh paint serenades him, makes him nauseas and floaty, but mostly the former. Being there, in her bed, he suddenly took in the surreal clash of a room painted blue and pink by two confused parents. That’s about how he looked at Arashi, from their first meeting to this very day. As if he’s any better, even his eyes are confused with themselves.  
  Arashi settles herself on Mika’s stomach. “It’s like, totally scandalous, huh~ A boy staying at a girls house.”  
  Mika internally scoffs at even the image of himself perving on a girl, when he has to hide behind them just to walk outside. He certainly wasn’t the image of masculinity, not this twig.  
  Instead, he says, “Y’re so pretty,” pulls off her glasses with his index fingers, “Y’know, for a girl.”  
  Arashi covers her face, “See, I can’t trust you~ You’re too casual. You’ll break a cute girls heart, you know.”  
  “You really think that?” Mika smiles, stretches out until his palm touches the wall. Arashi follows his lead, readjusts herself to rest her head on Mika’s shoulder, overlaps their hand against wet paint.  
  “No, cause you’re gonna be stuck with me forever, you know. I’ll get, like, super jealous if you tease another girl, actually.” She kisses his neck, and he’s really not used to those kinds of things yet, no matter how much of a farce he can pull with Arashi. He doesn’t feel like they were meant for him, but she can be reassuring.  
  “You’re really special, Mika.” Arashi pushes herself up, to look into his eyes, “Like, honestly, you’re the only one who disagrees, you know.”  
  Mika pulls Arashi’s arms, either to get up or pull her down, but they end up meeting in the middle. He kisses her like it’s their very first every single time they do, like at any moment her dad would chase him off for daring to hold her hand at all. It’s kind of embarrassing, kind of invigorating, kind of something you just don’t talk about the morning after, but Mika’s favorite pass time is waking up next to someone who loves him as much as he loves them.  
  He doesn’t really know, if Arashi loves him, ‘cause she’s never _really_ said it. Nor is he really sure he’s in love with her, but he’s in love with kissing her, in the moment. So he stays until he’s had his fill, until he’s tired and can’t stop sneezing. But he doesn’t sleep, not even a minute, he finds as he watches the sunrise and the birds chirp the morning anew. He daydreams about love and good morning kisses, good morning good byes.  
  There’s new feelings, bubbling in his stomach, making him feel sick. But he won’t turn his back on her, not for a second, until the day love stops sounding like a dirty word.


	7. Angel? No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it's not surprising that I love Anzu anymore, but this is actually the first Anzu ship I wrote! Infact, excluding the small role she played in my first MaoRitsu, this would be the first time I wrote Anzu at all! She's a very difficult person, y'know? But I'm jealous. I would blush just to hold her hands, she's so much more talented and cool than I'll ever be, it's not fair!!  
> As a bonus, this is also one of my older enstars fic, I wrote it a bit after the maoritsu, over a month ago. Time sure does fly, huh? I never intended to love Anzu as much as I do...  
> I like about as many Mika ships as I do Anzu ships, actually. They're my very precious girls! I want them to find love and happiness... Especially with eachother!!!! Girls love is pure! Please enjoy!
> 
> PS: I changed the ship tags to Everyone/Anzu to keep from cluttering them... I realize there are very few Anzu ships so I don’t assume people will be actively looking for them. I won’t write anzu and everyone though... I actually don’t like her with that many boys. I can assure you I’ll never stop writing Anzu ships, though. Someone’s gotta do it, y’know what I’m sayin’? I hope it’s not annoying, but since I’m pretty much the only one I guess I have a greater affinity towards writing Anzu ships. It's my brand now, no going back! Anyway, just thought I'd let y'all know.

**** She bites at the bottom of his lip, hands clasped around his. Without a thought nor care in the world she presses her right hand aggressively to his side, feels the beat of his insides against her palm. His rough, eccentric heart beat pounding all throughout him, as though at any moment he could burst apart, pushes her restraints to the limit. The darkness of the room engulfs her, swallows her resolve as she reaches for his hair, pulls his head down when she licks his lips.  
  He opens his mouth gently, like a deer caught in headlights. His breath eats away at hers, warm and excessive as it pools from his mouth. There’s nothing to say, nothing worth saying, but Mika opens his big mouth none-the-less. Doesn’t know how to keep it shut, regardless of his tough guy act.  
  “Thanks,” He says.  
  She smiles a bitter, empty smile. There’s an endless stream of colors leaking off the tips of her fingers when they dance over his warm, soft skin. Beautiful skin. Too beautiful for a boy so messy and needy. But it’s the color in his eyes that really set her off, that takes all of her strength not to mention out loud when he stares at her so shamelessly. Like nothing else matters in the world.  
  Struggling to find a name, her mind runs through each and every one she’s dealt with in just the past 24 hours alone. Mika. _Mika._ Valkyrie. That Valkyrie who had no chance in this world from the start, that wasn’t actually such an uncommon fate, was it? She runs her hand through her hair, thinks of how different things could have been and lets the stress drip away like sweat off her chin.  
  She presses her nose against Mika’s, laughs a little before she speaks up. “Nooooo,” her voice falls like the dip of a roller coaster as her nose trails down his neck. “I should be thanking you. You work too hard.”  
  Ah, yes. That’s it.  
  “Thank you, for working as hard as you do. It’s different.”  
  There’s no good word for the type of different Mika was in a school full of weird people. She feels the warmth in her chest running through all their names again, how much they’ve all given up to reach the top. His name stands out, between cute failure and excessive devotion to being such a failure. He flinches, at how cold her lips are against his throat, how frigid her hand is cupping his cheeks, how unbearable raw her mouth burns atop his. Girls were supposed to be easy, less rugged and more malleable in his hands, but she’s a puzzle he has yet to fully work out. Still, with each new piece, he find it easier to lean into kiss after glacial kiss.  
  “You’re good enough like that,” She says, her teeth brushing against his lips when she speaks. “It’s okay to talk, you know.”  
  He pulls her closer, onto his lap, traps her with his hands wrapped around her waist. Mika doesn’t really need a reminder to speak up, though he can think of a lot of people who do. Still, what he wants to say comes out a little muffled each time.  
  “I...” Something, something, something.  
  “You?” She sings it back to him, helps him find his voice that will ring beautiful in the ears of an audience he hasn’t yet seen.  
  “I-I...”  
  “You what?” She’s smiling a little too widely, smudging his blush with her thumb.  
  “I-I like you! Y’know!”  
  “Yeah?” She starts to laugh, rocking back and forth on his lap. “Yeah, I like you too, Mika. Did you know that?” She blows raspberries over his cheek.  
  “Stop! Hey stop~” He leans away a little too far, falling over to the floor. She listens to the vibration of his laughs resonating with hers. Actually, she wonders a little if his voice has ever resonated at all with someone else’s.  
  “You’re so cute,” he says. Smiling, finally a little calmed down from laughing so much, she closes her eyes and rests her head atop his chest. Listens to all his insides beat and mumble at once. Mika pets her head, scrunches her hair into his fingers. Just like a cat, he thinks. They’re both two little lost kittens playing at a dangerous game. “I think I’m falling in love,” he says.  
  “Mmmm,” she hums, “Is that right? You said it so easily I don’t think I can believe you, even if Mika never lies.”  She lifts herself up, fixes her hair from devouring her face so she can see his eyes again. “Let’s dance.”  
  He stretches himself out on the floor before pushing himself up. With tired eyes he opens up to her, stares into her like she’s the only star in the sky. Maybe it’s the only time she’ll have his attention all to herself, she doesn’t care how selfish it is to take it all as it comes. To have all of him, to consume him and feel whole with another person. She doesn’t understand it at all, but...  
  “Yeah, let’s dance without fear, ‘kay?”  
  Her face contorts a bit, half optimistic at least and about one-fourth tired. It’s difficult to admit she has a hard time relaxing, letting loose and being herself around her boys. But she wants to show them all this feeling of love, wants to feel herself falling immediately after getting up.  
  And she feels something, something beautiful and indescribable, when her skirt twirls around her like a flower in bloom as she spins to the other end of the room. Reaching out her hand, balancing off one leg, she looks at him expectantly.  
  “Actually, I’mma pretty awful dancer, yeah know?” He says, walking over to her. “But if it’s for our cute producer, then I’ll try my best.”  
  He takes her hand, pulls her a little too close and a little too distant all the same when he rests his hand on her hip. Without a tune, they waltz rather haphazardly about the dark, empty room.  
  She smiles at the feeling of sweat building beneath their palms, “You’re posture is already off,” She kisses the back of his hand as she takes the lead. “But that’s okay,” She says, like there was something more she wanted to get out but hasn’t quite thought up yet.  
  Mika dances a little faster, releases his grip on her side to let her spin about the dance floor as she loves to do. Watching her, dizzying himself just at the sight, he thinks she’s lovely, as lovely as a doll in a music box. Spinning, spinning... Somewhere in the pirouette lies a magic taking them captive, twirling their hearts beneath their skin.  
  “I think I’m falling in love.” Mika says again, like it’s never even been considered.  
  She loves all of her boys, equally she likes to think. But she’s never known the feeling, of falling into love. The inertia, the weight of the sky breezing through hair and skin without a care left to give. She doesn’t know how to relax, but into his arms, his scent she thinks she can slouch a little when they waltz, as well. And God, does she love to waltz with him.


	8. An Angel Kissing on a Sinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Gender stuff and drinking
> 
> This is.... very self indulgent. I think, anytime I was dealing with difficult feelings or frustration I immediately started writing more for this fic, I never really meant for any of this. But here it is, and I’m not disappointed one bit, although I’d say it might be the most ooc thing I’ve wrote since that tends to happen when I write for myself. I’m not sure, I don’t really get Arashi or Anzu very well. They seem like people in constant conflict with themselves. I project on Arashi a lot, though. So I avoid talking about him too much.  
> I jokingly refer to Anzu, Arashi, and Mika as “The girls,” And quite frankly I’m getting tired of waiting for an event with the three of them. When will I get the girls date I deserve? Since the answer is “Never,” I would actually like to write all three of them together, but... I feel like there were a lot of heavy handed emotions I had for the three to get out first and foremost. So I’ve now paired all of them together, the only way to go from here is forward, huh...  
> I guess that’s all. Since this is very much written for myself, I’m not gonna be like, “Enjoy!” but, “Please understand!” lol I hope it’s alright! Thank you!

  “I love you,”  
  I say, to the mirror, mockingly when it’s simply me, myself, and I. That was the first time I said the words out loud, fearlessly, without a hint of shame. Who better in this world is their to love and be loved by than oneself? Because those who can’t love themselves can’t ever hope to love another.  
  I love her. I’d never have to tell her that, but I know best what a girl likes to hear. Girls like her are so easy, the kind that work hard for no reward, but long to be spoiled endlessly when no one’s watching. Could you really blame her? While I love hardworking boys and girls the best, she’s too far ahead to compete with. Such a good girl deserves someone so much better than me.  
  But I can be selfish, too, you know?  
  “Anzu, my dear, do you like girls?” I say to her, some sunny, Sunday afternoon between just the two of us.  
  “I prefer them.” She states, ends a discussion there and then.  
  “Oh, is that right?” _Is that really right?_ Such a tease, she is. Of course she said it on purpose, but if someone too gullible were to hear her it’d be troublesome. She never takes those things into consideration. Why, she’s the quiet, straight faced type who could get away with murder. “I know a lot of girls who would kill to be in your position, you know?”  
  “There’s a lot of girls I’d rather be, so it’s pretty even.”  
  _Ah, there it is._ She isn’t so perfect after all, I can just imagine how much regret she must have had transferring here. It must be much easier to be normal, to be average, but she could never be that. So she works, is that how it is? I can’t hold back any longer, from holding her, from spoiling my precious fellow hardworking girl.  
  “You poor thing! Let me hug you, you’re so cute when you’re being coy.”  
  “No, no,” She starts laughing, kicking her feet up in the air. She’s at least half my size, small and easy to carry around, just like a little lost kitten in the street, with the same gentle kind of claws. “You’re cute, I can hardly compete.”  
  “So modest! How am I gonna marry a girl like that?”  
  She leans her head back on my chest, feet firmly planted on the ground again, staring at me with wide eyes and irresistible curiosity. “Come down here,” She says, and how could I ever refuse?  
  Her lips are perfect. Her soft hair, between my fingertips and her tiny little hands, and her gentle breaths, her porcelain skin and everything inbetween I missed in the moment. All of her is perfect, when she’s wrapped around me, in my arms. I wouldn’t have this moment any other way.  
  “Anzu,” I say, amidst kisses, “Do you like boys?”  
  “I don’t dislike them.”  
  
  “I hate this.”  
  I swish the glass over my fingertips before downing another glass whole.  
  “I hate the smell of alcohol.”  
  But what I hate more than that, is of every boy and every girl I’ve ever held, they weren’t _him_. And if I were him, I could swallow this drink and ten more without one complaint, not until the morning after, at least. And if I could just have been him, been born a couple years earlier...  
  “I hate the taste of alcohol.”  
  And what I hate most of all, above all, is you. You’re the only one to do this to me. To make me think I’m wrong.  
  “I hate this.”  
  She drinks like it’s not even a question for concern. When she’s stumbling she does it with more grace than a dove and I can’t decide what’s more tiring, her or my perception of her. Suddenly, I think, it’s like I’m looking into a mirror, and it’s painful. As painful as a knife twisting in your gut.  
  Yes, that is to say, I love all hardworking boys and girls, but I especially love how her eyes reflect mine.  
  Sometimes, a kiss isn’t just a kiss, is it? The meeting of a boy and a girls lips, it’s so much more than that. True loves first kiss, the kind that turns frogs into princes, that’s not something you can define with just one word. Nor ten nor twenty nor an entire novel; my very first kiss could never be compressed into a novel. I’m jealous, and only when it’s her would I ever shy away from a kiss. Would I ever even stoop so low as to blush from a kiss. I’m the one who’s supposed to be perfect. I’m everyone’s calm, cool, and collected big sis, after all? That’s who I am, isn’t it?  
  “Who are you looking at,” I say, probably more slurred than I meant it to be.  
  “Who _am_ I looking at?” How many drinks did she have? I lost count. Yet, for someone so small, you wouldn’t have known she even had one. That changes as she moves, her body dangling about like a corpse and still far too animated. Like she never speaks with words. “Who are _you_ looking at?”  
  That question shouldn’t have tripped me up, I could have easily said, _Why, I’m looking at our dear producer, aren’t I?_ Something petty, of that ilk, but I can’t even say that.  
  “Don’t know,” I start. “A guy. An ugly guy.”  
  “Really?” That smile. That smile. That smile. She could drive me insane with that trying smile, pretend she’s got something well thought out to say and saying nothing at all, in the end. “Y’know who I see?”  
  “Reflections?”  
  She waves her hand back and forth, stretches as far as that tiny body can go to take my glass and pour another drink. Another drink I didn’t ask to have but accept without a second thought. Because these are the things he’d do, I’m sure of it.  
  “You’re so difficult, Arashi. When you called yourself my sister, I believed that, y’know?” She kicks her feet up, in a way far too familiar of that lazy Mr. Sagami. Well, she does spend far too much time with that man, doesn’t she. That must be how she learned to hold her liquor so well, why she must have a headache she disassociates with us boys. “Sometimes, I look at Arashi and I see someone who’s got it all figured out, you know? And then there are times you’re just like every other confused boy. That kind of life is difficult, don’t you think?”  
  For anyone else to say those things would have been as good a reason as any to show that undesirable feeling of anger. That’s impossible when she speaks in a tone like it came out of my own mouth.  
  When I get up, the drink goes with me, The whole bottle, even. Aggressive, like a wave before the storm, then gently dripping like a lullaby. This is why a kiss can’t just be boiled down to a kiss, because when her lips stop tasting like a girl and more like an empty glass it’s not a kiss at all. It’s desperation. I feel like I’m about the pass out, but I can’t stop. Won’t stop. Not until every last drop of her is mine.  
  
  She catches me off guard, one stormy Monday afternoon, when she says, “Is it really alright for me to keep calling you a sister? I’ve been wondering.”  
  “Well, you can call me you’re girlfriend.”  
  She laughs. A hearty, merciless laugh and says, “Girlfriend, huh?”  
  “Anything. Whatever you like.”  
  Maybe that’s a lie. I can’t tell anymore, don’t care either way. She’s smiling, that beautiful, graceful smile only mildly touched up with eyeliner and mascara. How could I not return that grace, her kindness so lost on boys who can’t accept favors and boys who can’t be honest with themselves.  
  “You’re not being honest.”  
  Always three steps ahead of me, I’ve never held her hand when we walk in pairs. Maybe that kind of love is supposed to feel lonely, but she’s the only person who can be that brutally honest and amiable at the same time. Really, she’s too kind, a cruel boy is going to take advantage of that kindness someday.  
  “Arashi, my love, do you like boys?”  
  She skips over cracks in the sidewalk, her voice, as well, skipping through the air as though it came from a dream. There’s a layer to every question she asks. Honestly, for anyone else, even a stranger, to ask me on a date I’d have an answer prepared and let loose before they could finish their request. So why is it the day she asked me on a, “Girl-Boy kind of date,” I couldn’t even steady my hand long enough to touch up my face? I look at myself, first, in my mirror before looking at her backside as though she had eyes in the back of her head.  
  “I love myself.”  
  “Arashi, my love,” She turns on her toes to face me, her hands intertwined with one another. “Do you like girls?”  
  I rest my hand on my hip, one of many planned and perfect poses to remind the world around us how beautiful I am. How unreachable I’ll be. My eyes, locked on hers, to tell myself not to run away.  
  “I love you.”  
  She snorts, probably without even realizing it. Her eyes are calling me a liar, but she reiterates my confession a few times over. I love you. _I love you._ “I love you.” That words supposed to be dead to me, with how often it falls selflessly out of children’s mouthes. Still, in that quiet little voice of hers, they sound like the confession of a world famous poet.  
  “We don’t really have to go to school today, do we?”  
  Her glare sends arrows through my chest. The romantic kind. The kind that make me want to hug her and nuzzle her cheeks and call her adorable, which is exactly what I do. She puffs out her cheek, pretends to be more annoyed than she is when she turns away from me.  
  “I have a reputation to keep, you know? I’ve never missed a day in my life.”  
  “See, that’s the perfect reason to skip. You’ll regret not having the full high school experience if you spend every day in that boring old building, you know!”  
  “I think that school would fall apart without me there.”  
  Now that, I can’t argue against. Boys are just so spoiled, aren’t they? Bringing a single conscientious girl to an all boys school is just asking for trouble. Or maybe they’ve grown up a little more than we thought, and maybe I’m the real spoiled child.  
  And us, we’re peas in a pod – Completely. Stubborn. Children. I refuse to lose this time, I’ve lost too many times in a row recently to accept that outcome again. Stopping, walking the opposite direction, I know she’ll follow suite. Because what kind of producer let’s her idol skip lessons?  
  
  Her hair is soaked, clinging desperately for her face, water fighting against sweat. Running for the nearest tree, we long for but a single moment to catch our breath in the rain. The clouds are screaming, crying, longing for an escape from themselves and I, too, feel like running to the next tree over at least a mile away. I was always good at running.  
  In the end, however, it wouldn’t be worth missing the aggravated face sighing and scrunching up like she ate something sickening and saccharine. Or that lovely way clothes meld into skin as she begins to dry ever so slightly, and the uncomfortable shivers she makes too obvious when she tries to suppress them.  
  “I knew this was a bad idea,” She says, letting leftover raindrops fall to her tongue.  
  Her voice is as gross as the squelch of her soaked shoes she can’t stop fiddling with. The wind creates waves in the ocean before us, trapping us on this deserted little island, and the only sight more delightful than her bullet-proof eyes is the simplicity of unmoving dewdrops on tree leaves. I grasp her face in my hand, anxiously rubbing my thumb over her skin.  
  “You’re so beautiful.”  
  _Our lips align like constellations in the sky._ She smells like a wet dog this close, without anything to hide at all. She’s warm, like a fever, but her hands are steady, and determined. Resting the back of her hand over my cheek, she pushes little strands of hair away from my face and looks directly into my eyes like a leader of a country preparing to give their speech.  
  “Arashi, my love,” She says, her face red and voice faltering, “Do you prefer hot chocolate or green tea?”  
  
  When the dark gray clouds come to pass, there is no rainbow, nor any sign of true optimism to celebrate the clear skies. The air is still chilly, trees still threatening to fall over, but her pale, bare feet dancing along concrete is warmer than the chocolate and tea alike. She’s like a baby bird whose fallen from the nest, wandering without a purpose, and I no better a cat stalking prey.  
  “Arashi, my love, have you ever seen the sky so clear?” She says, her eyes sparkling with gentle, enthusiastic tears.  
  It was the first night we ever spent alone together, her face buried in my chest speaking of this or that frustrating kinds of things. She never complains, doesn’t even sound particularly annoyed. She simply rambles, on and on, whether there’s someone to listen or not. I’m thankful, that she trusts me to listen, that on that night we’d both done something naughty like sneaking out after curfew she said, “I love the stars in the sky, with all my heart.”  
  She can say it so easily, say she loves this or that without meaning it. I only wish I could return her adoration, wish I could love more than the puddles drowning the cracks in the road.  
  “I can’t say I ever have.”  
  Maybe unconsciously, she kicks her feet up a few times over pebbles with an empty smile plastered on her face. There are few things that make me want to risk this gentle kind of relationship than how cute and simple a girl can be.  
  “Would you take my hand?”  
  She doesn’t have to ask, of course I’d do anything for her, after all. It would be undeniably inhumane to deny a girl voicing her request with such a sweet, nearly silent voice as she always does. Taking her hand, though, now that is a bit scary. She’s a mystery box, a grab-bag of sporadic ideas she doesn’t hesitate to jump on as soon as she thinks of them. And maybe I’m just an idiot on the sidelines, taking the bait without a care in the world.  
  Between her fingertips, she catches fireflies and butterflies in our hands, drags me gently about the pavement. Her kisses are so innocent, and unexpected, like the purring of a cat in my lap and such kindness is far too much to bear alone. I smile, pressing my nose onto hers I say, “You’re so cute.”  
  She brings our hands up, breaking up our noses and slowly opening our hands up. Little, itty bitty lights dance around our faces, the bugs illuminating that sunshine smile as though she were an angel. She giggles over and over beneath her breath, with her palm wiping away her tears.  
  “I love you,” She whispers, her voice nearly gone entirely.  
  I wish I could tell her I love her. Honestly, with delicate words and halcyon verses, but when I open my mouth the thought never makes it’s way out. “You’re something else,” I say, staring into her eyes to keep myself grounded. She smiles, turns her back on me, and I wait for enough space between us to breath before I follow.  
  
  “Anzu, my dear, do you like girls?” I say, some cold, bed-ridden morning after when my head was pounding.  
  “I love you,” She says, without hesitation, as though forever were a certainty and we had it between our fingertips, or under our heart.  
  “I’m a guy, you know?”  
  _Mmhmm,_ she hums. Lays a mended shirt of hers on my chest and sets a cup of tea on the nightstand. “I’ve been told,” She says.  
  “Sometimes I wish I weren’t a girl, though,” She sits at the edge of the bed, “Maybe it’d be easier, right?”  
  “Not at all,” I laugh. Hold her hand to distract my thoughts.  
  “I like tea,” She mumbles into her cup as she takes a drink, “This one...”  
  I’m not sure, if it were my headache that drowned her out or her own thoughts that subsided. I get up to dress, take the cup from her lips and drink from the opposite side. It’s like lava down my throat and too bitter to taste, but I don’t flinch. Not when it’s her, not when it’s the girl who strikes fear into boys hearts. I know I’m better than that, and she must, too, when she doesn’t change her empty expression as she wanders.  
  “...I shared it with the first girl I ever loved.”  
  “Is that so? What number am I?”  
  “Lost count.” She hand waves my question entirely, leaves the bed to fumble about her closet. “No more skipping classes, okay?”  
  “Uh-huh.” It’s a vague promise, but a promise none-the-less.  
  “Good, good,” She says, holding her uniform in front of her body like she’s assuring it will fit. She scrunches her face, seems dissatisfied with herself before continuing. “You’re the first.” She says.  
  “First?”  
  “First boy and girl. That I love, that is.”  
  Sly as always, but I suppose she’s not entirely off the mark. Being an actor and an idol at once is difficult, indeed. But how can I complain, with such a lovely girl to take care of me as I would her? The other blanks we’ve forgotten about can be saved for later, as long as she loves me.  
  “I was my first, too.” I say, taking her into my arms, “But being second isn’t bad either, don’t you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite, and longest, fic I've ever written so I'd really appreciate any feedback you might have. I have a huge weakness for Arashi and Anzu bc girlfriends so I put a lot of effort into this one... I was late to work because I was writing this, haha! Really, though, this fic is my precious baby so if you wanna comment please do even if you think it's trash! I'll accept your insults with open arms! Hah! <3  
> Thank you all so much for reading this fic and the other 7 I've written... This fic has been a very special journey so far so I hope you all continue to follow me for a while longer! Thank you all so much!! <3


	9. My Heart Spillin' On The Drums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's...... 7 in the morning...... I was supposed to sleep ut..... i love.... i havent written in like a whole week !!!!! That frustrates me!!!! Damn me having a full time job!!!!  
> I've said before I have no strong feelings for 2wink, but... I've been a little warmer to them, recently. No particular reason. I know I annoy every Enstars fan bc I call Hinata, "Aoi," normally. I call Yuuta Yuuta but... I don't... like the name Hinata... Or, rather, it doesn't suit him... Aoi is a cute, aesthetically pleasing name.  
> What else.... This is incredibly cheesy but I'm not sorry.... Both because I havent slept and because I'm incredibly cheesy irl. Watch me flirt sometime, it's a real treat. I can relate to Tetora's desire to be a man among men... I, too, want nothing more than to be cool and manly, but alas... I am very lanky and meek. Shy! Not manly at all! But I like to think I'd be a good boyfriend, I hope Tetora is, as well.  
> That's all! Goodnight!! 
> 
> PS I plan to end this fic very soon, be excited! I'm happy... I got to write a lot of my weird otps and ended up falling head over heels for Anzu along the way?! All in all... A good project. I hope you’ve all enjoyed it, too. I won’t spoil how many more fics I’ll post but I promise you’ll be disappointed regardless. Enjoy! <3

  Truth be told, it’s a bit impressive how easy the word “Brother,” comes out. Like he was always meant to have one. Like he’d always wanted a little brother to rough house with as a child, or an older brother to mentor him in every walk of his life. To become a man and lead a man, that might be a childish little dream of his.  
  Well, he’d always be a little bit too young and a little bit to childish to be a man, wouldn’t he? If that were the case, there wasn’t any shame, in stealing little kisses every now and again. In drinking tea from the same cup.  
  He would surely become a better man, like that.  
  Maybe taking care of a boy like a girl wasn’t the most manly pass-time of his, but frankly neither was sewing from his mentor. In respect of that master, he could do even the most pitiful of tasks with deeply over thought pedanticy. That is what manly adoration entails.  
  And love is a different subject, less manly but very much pedantic. He takes care into all those little over looked things like the taste of dinner and the smell of a candle. Love is fast and love is brutal, like a swift punch in the face that leaves you missing a tooth or two. It didn’t seem that cool, when he asked for his first kiss some years down the line, but it felt tough like the diamonds wives wear.  
  He didn’t think love at first sight was really a thing, not like sappy movies of which he’s definitely never watched one of. And, technically it was not their first, or second, or third, or even fourth meeting that he felt his hand waver. They saw each other everyday, in fact, but it wasn’t everyday he felt lonesome without him.  
  If calling Yuuta a brother was as easy as breathing, being friends with Hinata was like punching holes through walls. Tetora collided into true love abruptly like anything else in his life, but Hinata is flexible. Calming. He feels the need to sit still and consider his words before he says anything bizarre with the Hinata he loves. He learns to say gentle things, like _would you like to hold hands?_ Before reaching, before missing and starting again. Hinata wasn’t the type to stomach violence well, the type of kid who’d come between a swatter and a fly.  
  That just made Hinata serener. Softer. More like the wife he might have dreamed about after some chick flick he never watched, perhaps a little less house-bound. Not that he was a bad care taker, that older brother, but nothing compared to a mother cooking, cleaning, and doing dishes at once just prior to tucking one into bed. He wonders how intimate Hinata was with the concept of a good mother. Never asks.  
  All the same, Tetora doesn’t understand the first thing about brotherhood, though he does his darndest to between clubs and his unit. Still, when Yuuta and Hinata bicker aimlessly about this or that unimportant thing, Tetora never knows what to say. Avoiding bias, he offers his fists, to which Yuuta would mockingly accept and Hinata would honestly deny. That’s what he calls two sides of the same coin, also known as twins. When he’s allowed to call them twins, that is. Which is not normally the case.  
  Rather, he thinks a true master of the arts could tell something as simple as the difference between brothers. He doesn’t mistake their names, regardless of the day, the outfit, the time. It’s all the same, he imagines even stripped of everything he could tell a brother from a lover. Well, that’s a bit of a dirty word in his mouth, _lover_ that is. He prefers to stick with friend, or friend who he feels immensely lonesome without. Is that too clingy? He’d rather not be stuck with the role of the pining girl with unrequited love.  
  He wants to be the hero, strong and bold, unwavering from even the strongest of foes. (Which is love. Which is kissing. Which is telling everyone love is a boy.) Admittedly, he ended up a little shorter than expected, not quite as strong and not quite as unwavering but bold against the storm nonetheless. When they first kiss, a lesson in mistakes, it’s very hesitant and very analytical. Tetora’s brain might have shut of, thinking of the perfect kind of kiss before unabashedly bashing their noses together.  
  Second times a charm, so he thought. With eyes shut tight, he thinks it must be impossible to miss a person’s face. The target he aims for is surprisingly more brutal than a mugger on the streets, so slim even a well-trained man struggles to reach his prize. Sliding past Hinata’s cheek, he awkwardly kisses his ears, says something embarrassing about how nice his hands feel and how eternally young Hinata’s cursed to look. That kind of _gets carded at age 43_ baby face isn’t strong or cool but good enough to deserve a proper kiss.  
  The seventh kiss, now that’s really magical. It’s lucky, or rather, he’s lucky to have such a good boyfriend, that much they assured some night several years along. Tetora redefines the term of eating one’s face when kissing. Rather, he’s like a dog seeing his owner again for the first time in years, devouring every bit of Hinata’s face without any tact. Maybe Hinata was weak for that kind of endearing youthful inexperience, and that’s what makes a bad kiss great. What makes Tetora rubbing his wrist over Hinata’s mouth seem like a thoughtfully romantic gesture.  
  So they’ve never had a great kiss, but they’ve only had seven so it’s a meaningless thought. Not that anyone’s counting, least of all Tetora. He’s never asked the girls what they look for or practiced on a pillow, for those are the least manly of things to do.  
  He did, once, try to kiss a cats nose, only met with the rude paws of rejection.  
  Love blooms with ease and love blooms at random, there were no seasons, he’d decided. He hadn’t taken note to the day holding hands to class became a natural routine to their days. There wasn’t any personality to it all, like they had known each other their entire lives without realizing. Tetora hates prying, so he lets everything flow as calmly as an ocean wave in the summer. Where everyone is smiling, where everyone is happy.  
  There was nothing manlier, he decided, than loving a man, one nothing like him at all. Not that he’s ever said it, that cliche and overused “I love you.” It’s just as assumed as it is assumed they’re dating at all. He’s certainly never asked, just let the dominoes fall down around them. A real man, he decided, doesn’t need the words, “To be a man.”  
  All a twin needs is his opposite to love, that was Hinata’s theory of things. Tetora doesn’t need to be asked to be counted on like that, so Hinata never does ask, to see him. To be near him. To go out on dates and all those kind of silly things.  
  As long as he had his hand, years and years down the line, he thinks, maybe this dream wasn’t so bad, after all. Being an idol, a man, a brother and all those kinds of things. Family felt like a much warmer word between the two, unspoken but definitely dreamt of.  
  Tetora could see it in the fire of his eyes, that becoming a man was but the beginning, to titles like dad and husband and grandfather, the likes. With unsatiated anticipation he raises his fist to the sky. That only love could light a fire in an empty heart.


	10. You Have the Lips I Need to Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help but get a kick out of how when you google those lyrics (title) it gives you Girl Crush as a result... I actually did plan to use Girl Crush for a scrapped fic lmao it's a horrible song omg please........  
> OKAY I HAVE A LOT TO SAY SO BEAR WITH ME HERE
> 
> First of all... Happy fathers day! Late, but hey! Arashi would be a good dad. Very good. And kind. And loving. I would love for Arashi to be a dad. No, rather, Arashi makes me want to be a good dad www  
> The one artist who draws lots of AraAn drew the cutest June Bride art... "Two brides!" www I never felt so happy in my life. I want Arashi and Anzu to get married and be happy together... The one event, Autumn Trip, reawakened my deep adoration for AraAn like no other... God! Just let 'em kiss already! Girls love is PURE!  
> I suppose I’ve become, like, King of Anzu ships as it’s about all I ever talk about anymore... Anzu, in general... I love her. But! The next, hmm... two or three fics? No more Anzu. I promise! Actually, I’m at a slump for who else to write, but I have at least two things juicin’ in me brain-o. And then more Anzu because I love her and adore her and I’m glad no one else does because it means I don’t have to deal with any fighting. Kindly continue ignoring Anzu for me. lol  
> BUT DONT IGNORE ANZU/ARASHI THEY ARE IN LOVE AHHHHH!!!!! Please support their wedding!! I am reADY!!!! FOR THEM TO KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> ONE MORE IMPORTANT NOTE! For Arashi I’ve chosen this time to switch between He&She pronouns for my own personal enjoyment, however if you’ve read my fics before you probably know I’m uh VERY LENIENT ABOUT PRONOUNS so if you get confused about which she is Arashi and which is Anzu just assume it’s both. It’s probably both.  
> You can ignore my self indulgence and read Arashi however you want this time, tho. I didn't have a specific image like the last two.
> 
> That's all! Please enjoy sorry I talk way too much! I'm just way to in love with AraAn....

  Love is like the burn of a fire, one you fell right in trying to impress this boy or that girl you swear you’ve adored your entire life. She thinks those kinds of over dramatic things, leaning into walls and trees as though she were the only girl in the world. And though she really doesn’t try to draw attention to herself, trouble finds her regardless of how she hides at this school. Like a magnet, these boys draw their misfortune to her.  
  That’s fine, so she says. There’s nothing wrong with holding boys hands throughout the storm, but what of the storm itself?  
  Somenights, there are kisses which bring back the warmest of memories. Kisses from girls and from boys and from those inbetween, she reminds herself what it’s like to be loved. Arashi Narukami, he who is liked and he who is disliked by the world, who treats her with grace like a meager princess who can’t hold her own. Sometimes that’s a nice feeling, when someone else is holding the world for you, but she does have a bite of her own somewhere deep inside her.  
  “This shirt looks cute on me, right? Right, right?”  
  She smiles gently to her, like they only vaguely know one another. It does look good on her, as would anything else covering the endless walls of the store. That wasn’t the question. He wants to hear her say it, hear her comforting little voice. A clever girl like her, she’d never say a word, or is it that she’s shy? Maybe the crowd’s a bit much for a girl like her.  
  She shoves the shirt over her head. Too big, of course. “Looks better on you, though.” They laugh together, her rubbing their cheeks together, to which any blush she had put on that morning had been overpowered by the burning of her face.  
  “Stop it, stop it.” With all her might, she inevitably fails to push her away, “You’re embarrassing me!”  
  Well, that’s what big sisters are for.  
  
  His lips are sweet like artificial sugar. Like cotton candy you can’t finish. And her hands are so confused, lost with what they should be doing with themselves, not wanting him nor herself one bit. She loses sight of herself, biting her lips.  
  She loves her a lot, too much, really. More than a friend, more than family, more than even a lover loves a lover. She doesn’t know what to do with all that bile clouding her heart, so she fills in the empty space with kisses. With hearty desire. With the smell of dripping dew drops and mold ever growing in long forgotten trash bags, all mixed in the perfume he clouds his skin with, trying so hard to cover up the bad. To that, she pressed her nose to his skin, like she’s never inhaled his scent before, and she never has. At least, not in a verboten alleyway far from either’s safe, little home.  
  The musk of a city is beautiful between a girl’s and a boy’s lips. Behind a car, ready to start, they, too, find hormones kick up faster than logic.  
  She cringes, her hand resting on the damp, humid brick wall she feels transparent in an attempt to be dominate, like soon enough she’ll fall right through him and the wall itself. She swears she loves him, swears she loves him either way, swears she loves a boy when she kisses girls.  
  Well, she swears she loves you, whoever that might be. “I love you,” She says, when his tongue isn’t starved for her lips. They don’t taste good, like sweat and dirt and every other boy the two go to school with. She absorbs herself in their lives, dancing with them, singing with them, being a boy that she’ll never be. “What would you be, with out me?” He says, brushing her soft, silken hair through his fingers. She wonders if she’d be at all, without a girl like her. There used to be so many girls, she thought.  
  
  “I’m pretty good at painting nails, you know?” She says. “But makeup? I was never good at that.”  
  She leans her forehead against her shoulder, fingers less than elegantly intertwined. She laughs, or smiles, or something that rings eloquently melancholic in her ears, forgotten beneath kisses and empty sounds of love and grace. Of a necessary kind of touch, the kind that grounds the heart with bolts and nails never to be found again.  
  Running her hands through his hair, barely scrapping the scalp of his head with sharpened tips, she says, “Sit still.”  
  That dreadfully strong stench of chemicals immediately fills the room as she twists open the top. It’s a color he doesn’t really like that much, not that it’s worth bringing up, not when she’s every color in the sky. From ashy grays to rosey pinks, just like the tint of her cheeks and the shade of her eyelids.  
  Her hands are so steady under hers, unlike she’s used to seeing, and her eyes focused as the lens of a camera. With an exceptional level or precision, she paints her nails like a well refined canvas, never coloring outside the lines. It’s scary. Scary how attracted she was.  
  “I said sit still,” She says.  
  She tries really hard to listen, really, she does. But not really. She steals her lips every moment she takes to breath, steals her life support just before her heart. Takes time to admire a girls handiwork before letting her continue, plays her like a broken record.  
  He admires how well a girls shirt fits on him, if a bit too tight for his liking, but more so he adores how cute a girl looks in shirts to big. Rather, maybe he’s a little jealous, of how much better his clothes look on her. He’s thankful to be the one who knew it first, best, the only one in the world who sees her dress at all.  
  Yet, how painful the evening passes, without knowing what to say beyond the ever empty, ever bitter girl talk.  
  
  Before the ceilings he admires his hands, glistening like planets and stars on a clear summer night. His middle finger: Venus. His index, Jupiter. His thumb, the sun, and every other undiscovered mysteries. Somehow, he longs to run away somewhere far out in the stratosphere, deep in the recesses of space where it’s just the two of them. Such a simple, purely human thought he can’t ever come to process.  
  But he loves her. Only a little bit, because she knows the things he likes to hide away from. _How cliche,_ he thinks of himself, but before he knew it, he, too, could really be himself with her. Just as she could open up to him, like family you never quite knew you had, but love regardless.  
  She loves her, too, regardless of personas, though sometimes life is better than a painting. She loves the curves of her hands, the softness of her wrists, how delicately a persons body can dance before a stage of thousands. That kind of dreamy admiration she’d never quite had for an idol becomes wholly indistinguishable from a normal persons feelings, but loving her feels as natural as drinking water and breathing air.  
  And even now, it feels like loving a stranger, and a best friend all the same.


	11. Today Has Been The Most Perfect Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Eichi dies
> 
> It makes me very uncomfortable to be posting this with the hit count on the number of the beast. Smh at yall.........  
> Nothing to say... I'm mad this is now my longest one shot I think? 3.2k words... Christ. It's a story about how beautiful life is. Enjoy it to your fullest potential.  
> Also, listen to the song this chapter is titled after (videotape) I don't normally say that but trust me... Just do it.
> 
> Edit: This fic ruins lives, apparently. I forgot, but... Very heavy dedication to Irina (biggest Keichi/Keito fan) for all her hc's, also my Twitter for all your help!! Some stuff was decided by Polls, haha! Thank all of you for your love and support, there's nothing I love more doing than writing for all of you!
> 
> Enjoy! (Or don't!)

  Every evening ends as it begins, silently. Gently. Like the lullabies that put children to sleep. Not that he would know of that, fumbling through life like a bird without wings. Despite that, he loves to sing, loves to parrot that which a mother would do. Always humming, always dancing, he sings love ballads three times a day.  
  Once, outside, rather than fighting or climbing up trees, the boys poured tea for each other as gentlemen sometimes do. Eichi whines about something or another, things that don’t make much sense and things that do but he shouldn’t be upset about. Desperately, he tries to hold cough after insatiable cough down, lacking the luxury of even clearing his throat in the day time. He leans over his friends shoulder, at the time without realizing just how dear a friend he’d be, thinks about how beautiful a boy could be. Love flows naturally, like the stroke of a pen across paper, two wholes who wholly belong with one another.  
  Simply, swiftly, art appears, like the mindless beating of his heart.  
  “I wonder,” Eichi begins, straining his voice over each and every word, “Just how far you’d go.”  
  Keito doesn’t respond, not even with his body, continues drawing roses and sparkling effects far withdrawn from conversation. So Eichi sits still, as well, if only for a moment before the devil leads his hand. Gentle – he always was a fair boy – he runs his elegant fingers through Keito’s hair, once. Leans his head forward, nearest to his ear, and begins to sing.  
  Songs are easier on his throat, he thinks. Without any effort at all, the notes flow like birds tweets, yet empty and lifeless with each and every beat. No matter how hard he tries, to live, to be alive, the sound never resonates. Keito wraps his hand around Eichi’s head, none-the-less, patting him like a therapeutic dog.  
  The tea grows cold, unfinished and forgotten, as do the rest of their childhood days.  
  
  One long, dreadful summer afternoon lost on the roof of a hospital, Eichi asks, “What’s it like, out there?”  
  Keito doesn’t respond, though he rubs his thumb over the back of Eichi’s hand. It’s disgustingly hot, and both would prefer the air conditioned inside if it weren’t for how much worst a hospital bed smells. Eichi wants to feel it, with all five of his senses, summer vacation, that is. They’re without tea, or snacks; everything needs to be documented.  
  Despite his desire, to grasp the world within his own two hands, Eichi can’t keep himself going for long. He drifts between sleep without warning mid-conversation, like a cell phone call through a never-ending tunnel.  
  Keito gently wipes the drool from Eichi’s face, his skin cold, disdain painted over his lips. He hadn’t meant to spoil him, to treat him so dearly when he could scold him like a dog as children. Truly, at this age, children’s feelings get muddled in a barage of hormones, forgotten like melted snow. To that, he can’t say he loves Eichi, that love were even a concept at all. He doesn’t love Eichi. Not at all, he thinks.  
  Without realizing their day had come to pass, to Eichi’s chagrin, the stars scatter the skies as faded, smudged art of their Creator. Eichi holds Keito’s hand over his cheek, before reaching them out to that impossible to reach Heaven he’s lost his right to visit. They’re like snowflakes, up there, easily missed, and cold to the touch. He can’t seem to move even an inch from there, trapped behind the walls of the ER.  
  Keito effortlessly escapes Eichi’s grip, opening the door back down. Eichi can already feel his head buzzing, the unforgotten sounds of eternal beeping beating their ways into his head. He wants to do something improper, unlike him, to scream until it stops but that would only serve to make his headache worsen.  
  “Are you planning on laying their forever?”  
  “Perhaps.”  
  Eichi doesn’t say anything, about how no one is looking for him anyway. He is the burden on everyone’s lap, who if he weren’t so frail would be loved by the world, cherished by his family, cherished by friends. But that’s the thing he desperately tries to sway people to his favor. He’s not frail. He’s not frail, he assures them, when he can’t breath.  
  He stares at the stars when he stands, feels the morning star staring back at him, a precious greeting he’s yet to grasp. Looking down below, at the abyss of streetlights and innocent dots of people, he wonders what asphalt beneath his barefeet must feel like. What Angels who release themselves from chains must feel like.  
  Eichi returns to Keito’s side, not that the latter was waiting for him. He wants to be anywhere but here, with Keito, but if Keito is the only one to remain by his side, that kind of lonesome life won’t be regretted, he thinks.  
  
  
  Behind piles upon piles of unfinished paperwork, Eichi swears he’ll swiftly complete this task and many more in honor of his freedom from the hospital bed. He won’t return to such a foul place again, he says. That would be a lie, to the surprise of neither, they’d find a few months down the line. In fact, doing his job in and of itself would be a lie, Keito finds less than an hour into playing catch-up.  
  “Eichi,” Keito says, monotone, like a business man refers to his client.  
  “Keito,” Eichi says, breathlessly like an angel refers to God.  
  “Sit up.”  
  Keito glares at him as Eichi laughs, a gentle kind of laugh. He can feel the devil on his shoulders as he sits up, leans back, looks to Keito like a child who can do no wrong. And, like a child who can’t sit still (perhaps because he’s been sitting still chained to cords and other such machines for the past month,) he begins to fold up worthless scrap paper beneath the desk. Keito, engrossed with what should be Eichi’s work, doesn’t pay his friend any mind at all. Rather, tries quite hard to ignore his foolish antics as they come, but Eichi refuses to be ignored.  
  Eichi is more than an idol, and Emperor. To behold him is something like God’s grace, to see him as high up as he’s fought hard to be before death do him part. Without even trying, the same fate has fallen into love, that it would take the death of him to shake Keito from his hand, not that he’s asking for that to happen.  
  “Ouch,” Keito groans, grasping his forehead before giving Eichi another one of those looks. Eichi is innocent, humming like a child whilst kicking his feet about. That must be one of the side effects of never _‘growing up,’_ so-to-speak. “What was that for?”  
  Eichi points down, without ever looking, his smile devouring his face. His aim is precise, the littlest paper airplane resting, mildly dented, over messy-organized files on their shared desk. Keito takes care in examining Eichi’s craft, as elegant as the Emperor himself.  
  _Keep going, Keito..._  
  Keito smiles bloom genuinely with Eichi, warmly, like the sun rising before the moon. He’s never really understood, how to be anything more than rigid and strict, scolding even a dying child to respect. Yet Eichi’s never grown at all, still playful and energetic in ways he really shouldn’t be. In ways that will bring about his death.  
  “Eichi,” He says, crumpling up the note, “I wouldn’t have to ‘Keep going,’ if you’d simply do your work.”  
  Keito reaches over the desk for Eichi, laughing like the world were ending right infront of their eyes. He could truly be so simple, so lighthearted, holding Keito’s hands around his collar.  
  “I can’t~” _Fufufu~_ “My hands are tired.”  
  Eichi is a bad liar. But not a bad looker, and without another word Keito continues scribing his approvals, his disapprovals, on soulless piles of paper.  
  
  Though not much time passes, Keito has a hard time holding his head up as he nears the end. It’s a busy time of the year, even with a producer lightening their load, she seemingly piles on more work than normal these days. Like everyone should suffer alongside her.  
  He looks to Eichi, too quiet to be alive, he thinks. The sight is more than he can handle, however, filling his heart with anxious butterflies as if he’s never seen Eichi so vulnerable before.  
  Maybe mindlessly, magnetically, Keito pulls his head down resting his lips on Eichi’s soft, gentle lips. They’re like air, he thinks, like his life returning to his soul. Like dirt from a roses petals.  
  He doesn’t understand the motion, or why he really doesn’t want to move at all. For perhaps a minute, maybe two, he stays at Eichi’s side, taking in every bit of his immense presence. Gently pulls away, releasing his breath like he’s never breathed at all in his life. Like a believer at the Gate.  
  Keito, too, rests his head, then. Pushes Eichi’s hair away from his face, wipes the edge of his lips from drool before he ruins their hard work. He can’t help but wonder, what he dreams about alone with himself, with death itself. There must have been something wonderful on his mind, something as beautiful as himself, when he smiles  With his hand aimlessly caressing Eichi he, too, finds his mind fading into dreams, desperately avoiding but a single thought.  
  _I love Eichi_ , he thought.  
  
  The morning is dark, vast, empty as the galaxy above them. Eichi feels rather cold when the birds begin singing, when he wakes up alone in a bed big enough for four or five. He can’t stand the weightlessness of his body as he rises, his hair a mess glued to his face.  
  Staring out the window, the frosty moon still pervading the sky, he curses Keito for trying too hard and not at all all the same. Beside winter’s cruel touch, just short of spring, he sings. Sings words that bode no meaning and words that have no grace. He knows without knowing, no matter what, his heart will always reach him.  
  And like the birds, he longs to fly away such a dreadful nightmare.  
  _It’s natural to be afraid,_ Keito says, the night before their first time. He didn’t have to specify, Keito knows him better than God, he thinks, with his prayers ever unanswered. But Keito doesn’t know himself very well, doesn’t know how to feel with his skin.  
  Keito never says goodbye. Because he never leaves for long. But still, with only the memory of his warmth on the right side of the bed, Eichi can’t overcome more needy, selfish, human desires. The devil pulling the strings must be laughing at him, right now, how stupid he truly has been.  
  _I’m lonely, Keito._  
   
  If all it took were his thoughts, Keito would be at his doorstep every second of every day. There are nights he longs to return to their childhood days, starting over with all the foreknowledge he has today. To be able to climb trees, and fist fight on the streets, those kinds of things boys are expected to do.  
  But he’s grateful enough, for every moment life’s granted him up to this point.  
  When Keito opens the door to his room, some kind of breakfast in hand, he smiles so arrogantly even the most beautiful of peacock’s would be jealous. This is the place Keito belongs, the only place Keito can call home.  
  “I love you,” Keito says.  
  Eichi is taken aback, only slightly, feeling for the first time truly defeated by his childhood friend. He rises from the bed, wraps his arms like broken glass aimlessly around Keito’s neck, over his shoulders. If nothing else, he wants to remember this very moment, and only this moment, when he asks for God’s forgiveness.  
  There’s nothing more he could ever say to Keito, but he takes kindly to consuming him all the same.  
  
  Keito rubs his hand over his bare fingers. The two of them have planned funerals more intimately than this, but the unfortunate truth remains the same. A grandiose kind of wedding can only be dreamed of, like idols themselves. Like princes and princesses.  
  To the world, their entire lives are but dreams floating down the riverbed. Empty, meaningless, without an audience to serve. For reasons Keito still hasn’t processed, that gives Eichi a new form a life, a glow to his skin he can’t possibly begin to understand. When the masses smile, their bright, endearing smiles, over Eichi’s magical performances, it’s as though Eichi himself is born anew. And for that, he refuses to crack the dreams of the one’s who rely on him the most, the normal people who dream of him.  
  But Eichi loves Keito. Adores him. Like the Angel graciously awaiting to guide his soul home.  
  _“Boo!”_  
  Keito jumps from his thoughts, pale as though he’d seen a ghost. Like a demon, Eichi laughs, holds him close around the waist as they awkwardly find themselves on the floor. Keito’s face remains blank, or rather, short-circuited. Like a robot failing to complete the sole task he was programmed to do.  
  “What? There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Eichi smiles, presses his lips against Keito’s neck before continuing, “Don’t be so tense.”  
  There’s a lot to be afraid of, actually. Like Intensive Care Units and the cost of a new house, bills to pay and two mouths to feed. Not that either would really know about those things, about being normal adults in this world. Yet, Eichi’s not wrong, in a way, because today is perfect. Truly perfect. And every moment after, when he can say Eichi is more than a friend, more than a partner, a husband, a father; In this moment, and this moment alone, life is truly but a dream, a boat, passing them by.  
  When Eichi pulls away, really looks into Keito’s eyes like there’s no one else in the world between the two of them, he can’t hold himself back. The warm embrace of overjoyed tears come like a miniature waterfall. And he can’t help but smile, just like the morning sun in the summer.  
  Keito presses his sleeve to Eichi’s cheek. “Stop it,” He whispers, as if he has any right. He can’t help tearing up, too. This warm flow he’s yet to even notice, truly settles his feelings for his confused brain. “I love you,” He says. He really did.  
  
  Eichi was smiling then, too, he remembers. A gentle, peaceful kind of smile, he wonders how he looked the night before that.  
  Maybe he didn’t feel anything in that moment because he always knew this day would come. Digging through boxes of ancient sketchbooks and memories, he promised today would be a day to remember, the best day of their entire lives. Life. Of Keito’s life.  
  Even as their wedding comes to pass, Keito never forgets those beautiful, inviting tears. Tears for every moment they never did, when they really should have. An overwhelming buildup of unspoken emotions, released for just the two of them, as if to say _“You are mine, and I am yours, whether you like it or not.”_ Keito was stuck with Eichi eternally, the day they first met, the day Eichi told him he was going to die.  
  As a child, Keito thought it would happen sooner, maybe that’s why he could imagine it clear as day, like it would happen before the two even passed elementary school. It seemed so real, then, that perhaps his childhood self sucked all the reality out of this picture. When he sees Eichi’s face like that...  
  He doesn’t want to stop him, from leaving. From leaving and never coming back, for an eternity at that, but perhaps solely in death can Keito truly say his goodbye’s. The goodbye he never managed to say, late at night alone with Eichi resting on his chest.  
  There were tears, when he last saw Eichi, in that hospital bed he hated most. The kind of straight-laced tears a father cries when he tries to hide his children from the world, but he, too, had to accept this world. This unforgivable, ungrateful world.  
  Keito felt like he were putting his own to bed, gently running his hand through Eichi’s hair. He’s not cold, didn’t feel any different from the night before he’d visited, but he’s not breathing, either. The machines haven’t beeped at all, tonight. He wishes he were there when they stopped for good.  
  Eichi’s lips are so dry, so devoid of that energetic life he once had, Keito thinks as he runs his thumb over them. His tears are all he has, the last drip of life given to life long lost.  
  And he’s not the Goddess Eichi saw in him, but just this once he hopes the world saw all the good Eichi committed.  
  
  Keito rubs his thumb over his ring finger, ephemeral as a night at the bar. It feels like years have passed him by without a word, irresponsibly, and regardless of the time nothing really ever goes back to normal.  
  Everyday, things were changing, weren’t day? Nothing had ever filled him up with such warmth and equal parts jealousy than seeing Eichi grow. That rotten, ill-redeemable child had found a home, at that Yumenosaki Academy. More than allies, he had friends. Friends who he could rely on, who he could trust, who he could truly smile and laugh with. And Keito, as well, had found a family without Eichi.  
  But in the silence of the night, pointing out constellations and shapes in the clouds, they had each other. Those are the things that change, that pass you by if you don’t pay them mind, like falling leaves in the autumn breeze.  
  When he’s alone with his thoughts, himself, he throws paper airplanes out the window. Never misses his target, the naked trees that engulf his surroundings. But there’s one little message he’ll never throw away, one little nuisance Eichi had aimed for the back of Keito’s head.  
  _Goodbye, Keito..._  
  Eichi laughed when he hit his target, like his message hadn’t held any weight to it at all. He sent out a brigade of apology kisses and promises he’d stay, and Keito wishes back then he’d have known better. “I love you,” He still could say those words, no matter how frustrating a little child Eichi could be.  
  Eichi wasn’t all bad, confusing and eccentric, but biased as he was he could never see the “Bad,” in him. He still wishes he were the one, who could make Eichi a better person. But none-the-less, to see him make amends for his tyranny, Keito feels that alone is good enough.  
  "There's nothing to be afraid of," He says, to the birds in the sky singing their days away. And he, too, begins to sing. Something like a lullaby, Eichi's sleeping morning face pervading his daydreams. Just for him, for Eichi, Keito became an idol, and yet somehow he found himself just as invested with the matter, when Eichi sang lullabies for him. He never repaid such a debt, to Eichi, for taking his dreams from him and remolding them in his image. Call it a dying wish, for Eichi to beg Keito, just once, to sing him to sleep at night.  
  Goodbye’s come and go, just like the river endlessly flows through the brooks. Just as every season passes, with you or without you. Eichi fulfilled all his life had to offer, he thinks, without any regrets to bear in Heaven, or Hell. But Keito has a lot more to learn, from this world, this lonesome world without the Devil. And when he’s paid his own dues, he hopes himself to see Eichi’s smiling face again, like he’d never lost it at all.


	12. C'est Con, Ce Qu'on Peut être Con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love IzuAn. It used to be my favorite Anzu ship, but I guess my brand has understandably shifted in bias for NaruAn. Which is fine, it’s a much healthier and happier pair in all honesty, However.... I do feel Izumi and Anzu’s friendship is very underrated. The two get along surprisingly well, for better or for worst. In fact, Izumi might be the only person to consistently expect Anzu to speak words to him (lol). Honestly, though... My shipping needs aside, they have a sweet little friendship... I want Anzu to beat up Izumi.  
> And they can both bond over their inability to understand Makoto for a damn second! (lol). Seriously... Poor Makoto, even Anzu-chan is kind of a poop to you :( Someone needs to protect that boy...  
> I don’t really think Makoto romantically feels for Anzu at all... Just that he’s a dumb boy. I laugh everytime the two of them are together, like... “Haha let me hit that anzu ;) LMAO JUST KIDDING I DONT LIKE YOU LIKE THAT PLEASE DONT ..... GET THE WRONG IDEA....” Is this a thing? A, er... No Hetero? I guess?  
> But I don’t mind... I wouldn’t mind MakoAn. It was just necessary here to my beautiful unrequited trio. Enstars is full of those! I love ‘em.  
> Enjoy, don’t... I’ve kind of grown an apathy for writing and all so... Leave me lots of angry >:( if you hate it. I’ll accept all your salt with open arms! H.E. is certainly thriving off of that with this event! lmao!

  His face is on fire, possibly literally but he’d never come to find out with his thoughts lost in a woman’s eyes. Sparks fly, they pitter off into the darkness, lighting his own eyes if only for a second. It’s long enough. Long enough for him to see the faint blush dusting her cheeks. Beautiful. Some sweet summer color like peaches and apricots. He reaches his hand for her chin, fumbles and takes to her cheek instead. Her skin is so soft, like cotton candy at the fair, in his dreams, she’s warmer and more inviting than anyone who’s ever stood so close.  
  He kisses her for the first time, then, a free hand spliced with hers connected by a dying sparkler. The harsh stench of burnt powder makes them both want to cringe but neither have the heart to turn away. This moment should be empty as any meaningless, hormone driven kiss, in a world where he loves her and she loves who he will never be, but this fading spark blooms fireworks in his heart. He could only pray she felt the same, never really asking how she felt in the day.  
  That was fine, because she’d never asked how he felt, either.  
  Dragging his breath from her, she opens her eyes and takes to his, instead. So lifeless beneath the shining sun, it takes her a moment to reconcile just how gorgeous the moon lights him. Just like him. _A model,_ she thinks aloud.  
  “I’m sorry,” She says. “I’m horrible,” She says.  
  “You’re not!” He defends her, all too quickly, and even more so loudly. Softly, she begins, and he fears he may really have screwed it up this time, but she simply laughs. She laughs, and she laughs, louder and louder, gently squeezing his hand just enough. With the warmth of her boiling his heart, setting aflame his very soul, he, too, begins to grin from ear to ear. And effortlessly to this girl, he says, “I love you.”  
  No hesitation, no fear, it all sounds so right just before his own words begin to affect him.  
  “Wait, _wait–!”_ he says. But it’s too late for take-backs. She presses an index finger over his lips, sparks fading away, she whispers.  
 “I like you, too.”  
  No hesitation. No fear.  
  That’s what this cruel world is all about.  
  
  The nights are warm, and winter ever bitter on their trail. It’s impossible for Izumi Sena and Makoto Yuuki to ever be alone together anymore, it’s God’s will, he’s certain. That’s what she’s for, her only purpose so far as Izumi were concerned.  
  And she’s not bad, after all.  
  Better than expected, really. Izumi feels he can see Makoto everyday, even, a thought once only dreamed. She gives him so much without any expectations at all, with adolescent biases and gentle attempts at understanding... She’s half-baked and trying oh so hard all the same. Really, so shameful, he doesn’t get it at all.  
  Well, there’s no shame in walking home together if it means walking home with Yuu-kun, is there?  
  “Izumi,” She says, turning just enough to glare into his eyes. It’s so easy to absorb the feeling of being hated, he feels he could do it for a living. “What’s your favorite smile?”  
  Yeah. She’s like Lucifer falling from Heaven, alright.  
  “Yuu-kun’s smile is the best of all, one highlighted under soft floods and spotlights, perfectly posed before an empty stage. You think so too, don’t you?”  
  She smiles, tenderly, lining Makoto up with her phone camera. It’s rather impressive how quick he is to notice, bashfully turning his head just enough to avoid her gaze. “I dunno about that.” She says. “Makoto is a better candid model after all.”  
  She dances around Izumi to see Makoto’s face clearly. Of course, they’re both aware of things that aren’t good enough, she’s aware her smile isn’t _‘good enough,’_ to earn his smile, as well. But it’s true. When Makoto really smiles, it’s a blessed sight people aren’t meant to view, she thinks.  
  It’s funny, he thinks. Makoto feels the same for her smile.  
  “Izumi, what of ferris wheels? Do you like them?”  
  He laughs. She asks these stupid kinds of questions all day long, he almost regrets asking her to speak to him at all. But he lets it slide, accepts all her ignorance with open arms as her big brother should. What else is he to do?  
  “They’re pretty romantic, right? In that case, it would be a dream to ride with Yuu-kun on one, huh~?”  
  “I wouldn’t mind riding with Anzu, as well?”  
  _Tsk tsk._ Izumi sends Makoto his dejected glares, like a love lost puppy rejected entirely by his owner. Well, it wasn’t a _‘no,’_ after all? Anzu laughs out of expectation, fixing Makoto’s hair like a mother in her thanks.  
  “Do you ever wish time would just stop there? At the top of the ferris wheel?”  
  Not only there, but everywhere. Like this moment, like the two of their smiles naturally formed together side-by-side like that. Like the feelings of teenage love easily forgotten after graduation. Like the adolescence of adults soon only remembered through their children, and their lives soon forgotten post-mortem. If time simply stood still here, for only a moment, even were it only in photographs, would the world remember or forget them entirely?  
  “A moment’s special cause it only happens once, right? It’d be pretty depressing if time stopped moving, especially all the way up top.”  
  Makoto laughs, like he hadn’t said a word out of line. It must be nice, to feel so carefree. Even as nice as it is, to witness that dazzling smile, it must be a sign death is near to both of them.  
  Despite his advice, she steals the moment’s glory, resting her thumb over the shutter button, just once.  
  
  
  “Can I hurt you,” He says, “Physically, I mean.”  
  Without any sensibility at all he lets the words spill from his lips. And yet, it might be the most grounded request he’s ever made, one of honesty and necessity. It’s a necessary reassurance, he reasons, the assurance that he isn’t all bad.  
  He isn’t. He promises.  
  And Makoto’s well aware of that much, that Izumi isn’t “all,” bad, more like “Some-what” bad. That’s how he finds himself nodding, not in any hurry to be abused in new ways, rather clinging to the certainty he’ll uncover that not-so bad side of Izumi he prefers to be near to.  
  It wasn’t all for not, he thinks, meeting Izumi. Being partners with Izumi. Being a model with Izumi. Those weren’t arbitrary decisions, but a plan intricately woven for every turn in life. There’s no such thing as regret, then, only desires.  
  This is only one such desire that needs fulfilled, then.  
  It doesn’t hurt, afterall. Not as much as words do. Not as much as nightmares do. Not as much as actions do. In fact, it’s so comfortable falling in line with Izumi’s sadistically gentle touch, Makoto could find himself falling asleep to this rhythmic kind of play. It’s the comfortable line, between sugar and cocaine.  
  
  “Pain is a beautiful thing,” She says, letting Izumi lean back into her hold. “But inflicting pain onto others is the worst thing a person can do.”  
  She’s a person who’s come a long way. He hates admitting he is rather impressed, that he can hear her voice at all so clearly. It’s perfect. It’s her perfect voice she’s lost and found again; lost and found, just like him.  
  “People like you...” Her voice wanders.  
  Until nothing else is said, if only because Izumi’s already fallen asleep to her lullabies of critique. Frankly, Anzu’s tired of giving it, but it’s the only way to unwind anymore, between all the sides that hate her and all the effort she’s put in unreturned. Izumi’s a refreshing person to waste nights alone with, and the two are painfully aware, how beautiful pain can be welling up lonesomely in one’s chest.  
  How love can bloom into hate, and hate return to the soil in love, that was the kind of garden the two tended to every morning, night, and afternoon.  
  
  Makoto follows Anzu out the door of practice. To the gates of the school. On the sidewalk leading to the store, then to the check out, then back around the path home. Not offering to hold her stuff, or help pay, or even knowing what it were she were buying in the first place. He’s only happy to be at her side, more knight-like than her Knights, at the very least.  
  “What are you? A lost puppy?” She says, gliding her hand over his soft tufts of hair. “No, that’s probably me, isn’t it.”  
  Makoto’s always afraid to spoil a moment alone with Anzu. They’re a rarity for all of them, after all. She’s so overworked, he wants to wipe away those bags under her eyes and carry her off to a relaxing little paradise far off from the painful reality of their current lives. Those types of dreams never get fulfilled, so he never offers at all.  
  Selfishly, he allows himself to be spoiled, instead. Allows Anzu to take all the burdens away from his chest and make them her own, instead. Without any remorse, or regrets, he takes to self deprecatingly breezing his way through this endlessly tormenting idol road.  
  Cruel isn’t the right word for these kinds of days. Perhaps jejune and idiotic, but certainly not cruel. Cruelty isn’t they; isn’t Izumi, nor Anzu, nor Makoto, but rather Izumi loving Makoto, and Makoto loving Anzu.  
  It’s the simplest part of being alive, loving oneself and their fellow man, yet the three of them couldn’t be worst at it if they tried.  
  They aren’t trying at all. That’s the organic nature of human failure. The only reason to put one foot forward when everyone shouts to come back inside.  
  “I love you,” is a simple sentence, the first ones they teach in school. What isn’t simple, is the weight of “love,” sandwiched between “I,” and “You.” They’re young, so they’ve yet to realize this.  
  But someday, certainly, all those abandoned lost puppies will find warm homes to call their own. That’s what she believes, ruffling his hair, having him chase her home uninvited, until they’re laughing breathlessly without a care in the world.  
  
  She loves cleaning up after boys messes, after all. To be honest, she thinks it might be all they’re good for, switching between the extreme of an all girls school to an all boys school with, perhaps, one or two outliers.  
  Makoto’s a child, the kind of child who cries ugly tears into ugly shirts, obnoxiously so until nothing’s left to burn. With dry eyes and the pounding of his head he lies awake in agony over the mess he’s raught. Still, an evening silently spent with Anzu, who once never said a word to him at all, is good enough.  
  Makoto is beautiful, no one could deny that much, but this face of his is Anzu’s absolute favorite, perhaps one only she’s ever seen. How soft and gentle his skin remains below her fingertips. How honest his expression reads, how she so wishes he were more honest with himself. How pitiful, how pitiful boys truly are.  
  “You sound just like Izumi,” She says, “No. You sound worst.”  
  He absorbs her words like rain soaking into his clothes, only to leave him with nothing more than a cold soon after. Actually, when he thinks about it, he hasn’t truly seen Izumi cry in a long time, after all. How much farther behind has he become in comparison to her?  
  It’s nothing his mind lingers on. He trusts her, more than anyone else in the world, even if she refuses to put her faith into him.  
  
  “I don’t really blame you,” Makoto says.  
  Crickets chirp, the stars bloom in the sky and the air, ever humid, melts away his skin before he feels it necessary to cover his tracks.  
  “Sorry.”  
  Izumi smiles, leaning his head back. Everything’s finally right where it belongs, he thinks. For the first time in so long, he can close his eyes without fear. Without having to prepare himself for the sunrise to burst this fantasy of his.  
  Thank God.  
  Izumi can feel himself rejoicing, and not for love or friendship or anything of the sorts. Makoto can hate him as he pleases, can love whoever he pleases, and he knows for certain as his little brother grows, becomes his own person, Izumi will never be able to understand him again. That’s something he’s accepted since long ago, a forlorn child with nothing else to live for, but seeing Makoto fall peacefully to sleep at the other side of his bed. Makoto is free to grow up, into a beautiful person without Izumi, as upsetting as it it may be, it’s high time the mother bird accept her empty nest.  
  But he’s grateful, that even someone like him can find forgiveness at the shoreline.  
  
  “I love you,” She says.  
  “What? What’s that? I didn’t catch that?” He leans his head down with his hand cupped around his ears, feigning ignorance to hear her speak again and again. Thoroughly unimpressed with him, she bites her lower lip, and begins again.  
  “I love you.” She says, louder. Passionately, and all too lethargic all the same. How frustrating it is every line need repeated, her voice the bane of her own existence.  
  He’s well aware of this, even indulges a little in the revelation. Izumi smiles, dragging his hand down her hair, tracing her spine, “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you?”  
  “I can think of a hundred reasons. Do you want them all?”  
  “No.” He breathes. “Just the twenty-second.”  
  “You’re the worst kind of senior,” She says, “An older brother who makes his little brothers cry just to hear them cry. The problem child mother’s love to defend and hate to tend to.”  
  “That’s hardly true.” He breathes, petting her head as if it will dissuade her any, “Go on. Forty-five.”  
  “Your figures too pristine, so it’s a pain to make outfits for you. Unnatural. I kind of prefer boys with meat of their bones, you know? But you’re less than a twig.”  
  “I see, does it make you feel better about yourself?”  
  She slaps his hand away from her head. Despite herself, she can’t remember how long it’s been since she’s felt this warm in the bitterness of winter. Maybe out of shame, she wraps an arm around her waist for the rest of their walk together.  
  “Ninety-nine.” He says.  
  “You made Makoto cry.”  
  “Is that so.”  
  
_It’s such a simple mistake, the deadly kind the only happens once._  
_“Can I kiss you?”_  
_If only this were their last moment together, the last night every man had left to conceive. They swallow one another’s sins, until both can breath again. And that alone is enough, enough to say two painfully hard words we’re always bound to regret._  
  
  “You look better with them on,” She says, well trained hands placing his glasses back on his face, brushing hair behind his ears, “Has Izumi ever told you that?”  
  He wonders just how much time has passed the two of them by since the sparks faded from existence. Bright fair lights from roller coasters and the tops of ferris wheels leaves the night eternally young, wasted away from 9pm to midnight in the blink of an eye. Makoto smiles, adjusting the glasses over her fingertips.  
  Even if it were so, even that Izumi has become but a memory, her eyes still won’t sparkle with the taste of his lips infesting her mind. Maybe that’s for the better, that love dissipate like memories to the old and jaded.  
  “Do you see two without them on?” She teases, lifting herself off the ground and dusting off her clothes. Her hand waits for his in the air.  
  “Just you.”  
  He does is very best, not to back away from those embarrassing kinds of words any longer. Lacking shame is a virtue he needs, after all. She laughs, turning away just before he can take her hand to get up himself.  
  “That’s awful, I won’t make a good housewife, you know?”  
  He’s ready to come at her aid, with comments about how delicious the treats she makes for Trickstar are, or how gently she treats them so dearly she might mistakenly refer to her as ‘mom.’ All this, before that gratingly endearing little whine finds it’s way to their ears.  
  “Yuu-kun~”  
  “Uh-oh. Looks like I won’t even have the chance to be a wife, after all.”  
  Makoto laughs, ready to be put away forever by Izumi’s unwavering judgement.  
  “I heard you’d be having a live hear, and yet it took all this time to track you down, you know? Of course, this would all be Anzu’s fault after all, kidnapping you like this. I’ll never forgive you for this, you know?”  
  “You’re one to talk about that.” She says, looking past him back to the festival passing them by. “But you’re right. We’ll be late if we don’t head back soon, after all.”  
  Anzu pats Izumi’s head, as if he intentionally did a good job of finding them. He’s such an odd case, a boy who comes out of nowhere only to disappear without a trace after he’s put his word in. After all this, even if only for a dream, she wants to hold tightly onto him, onto these smiles they’ve learned to paint over the year they’ve spent together.  
  “You’ll watch, won’t you?”  
  “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’d stay to see my precious Yuu-kun perform.”  
  “Of course, of course. And you’ll ride the ferris wheel with us after the show, right?”  
  “Obviously, I’ll... No, wait, you’re--”  
  She skips ahead of the two innocently, snatching the gold medal beneath their feet and relishing in every second of it.  
  “It’s too late, now. You already agreed, no take backs~”  
  “Yeah, no take backs~”  
  Izumi huffs at their childish games, of course they’re still children, after all. But it’s not a bad deal, to be with his first love and his first love’s love. It’s not the ideal, not the dreams Izumi longed to return to when the two could be just two in a photograph for the masses. But a dreams a dream, after all.  
_And for what it’s worth, at the very least, it’s still too early for good byes._


	13. Sympathy for the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's truly frustrating how unpopular Hokuto is when he canonically loves Anzu and I want ust for them to kiss.. juST ONCE! just a singel kiss it's all i want!!!! Give it to me, Akira! Yoshino Yuuki! Give the people what they (I) want!!!!!! how dare you pile on trash ship after trash ship and I still havent received a single hokuan kiss!!!!  
> whatever!!!! i dont care!!!  
> Jokes aside, it's been rainy and muggy and I haven't been feeling to hot but last night I was struck with a bunch of dialogue exchanges so I wrote it all down and that's the end of that! Soft engirls references too because I swear... Why isn't there any femslash engirls I'm smh at all of you.... Let me get you started Reika and Anzu is absolutely canon good bye 
> 
> Anyway... Enjoy?! btw im doing commissions hmu [ here! ](https://twitter.com/Mountain_Mew/status/762307045374787584)

  Her hair ruffles gently with the wind, sounds or crackling thunder threatening to ruin her entire day planned down to the minute. Despite that, it is rather warm, muggy but cooler than she’s been used to. For all the doom and gloom the clouds protrude, a bright sun has risen over Yumenosaki in her year of training. She wonders how smooth a transition the next year will bring, with bright unknowing smiles of children who, rather than dancing and singing, long to take the role of a nurturing parent for idealistic boys and girls.  
  For once, it seems, her world is glowing brightly, her hands burning warmer, that it was her who laid each brick of a revolution. And those kids really ought to thank her; learning how to dance and sing just to be a producer and only ending up a babysitter in the end really is tiring. She’s still not sure she’s really on the right track, of being a “Producer,” whatever it really means to be a producer, but for all the kind words she’s received she must be doing something right, aside from dancing. She’s still tripping over her feet, there.  
  Carried by the scent of tea in the air, she finds herself stumbling upon her biggest... second biggest? Perhaps third biggest nuisance since joining this school.  
  The Emperor, Tenshouin Eichi.  
  Or, should it be former Emperor? She’s lost on the semantics about this school; Kings, emperors, perverts, mentors, fools oh, they’re all children to her. She votes there be just two categories of boys at this school, big brothers and little brothers. Much easier.  
  _Wait_ , she thinks, finding herself foolishly stopped amidst the people with a destination in mind. She’d almost forgotten her big sister, after all. Four categories, in preparation for the future, she declares to herself. It still beats the infinite number of boys boasting the name of leadership in this school, of royalty. Who do they think they are, anyway?  
  She shakes her head, perhaps the title of an “idol,” would get to anyone’s heads. But this boy, in particular, she’s yet to fully understand. She wishes the year would stretch out, just a bit longer, for her to have more time to become friends with every Yumenosaki student, but as it is, this isn’t so bad.  
  
  Resolving to move forward, she approaches him.  
  “The Tea Club isn’t having a meeting in this weather, are they?”  
  Eichi looks up to meet her eyes, smiling like an angel on the path to death. He doesn’t look well, but Anzu is the last person who would ever scold him for living his life as he pleases. It’s a quiet, quaint little connection they’ve developed, something of a _don’t ask, don’t tell_.  
  Sometimes, she worries there’s too many secrets beneath them. She wonders when she’ll dig up bodies beneath the dirt of this table.  
  “No, nothing like that. Wataru had prepared some tea earlier, it’d be a waste to let it sit. Would you like some?”  
  She nods, taking a seat. It’s been a rather arduous day, after all, and for being her enemy in name only, nobody ever treats her but the Emperor. For all his benevolence, she wonders what it must feel like, to feel the sword in your back while his hands remain clean as winter snow.  
  “Thank you. It’s delicious as always, please let him know for me.”  
  “Of course. Your tea is lovely, as well, Anzu, I wish you’d prepare it more often.”  
  She looks down at her reflection in the cup. It has ben quite a while, hasn’t it? She’d made tea for him when they were bulls at eachothers head, yet now they’re more strangers than ever. Something about a saying, she thinks, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. When did she get demoted?  
  “I really wish you’d take me up on my offer, you know? Next year, you’ll join the tea club, won’t you? Someone should take care of Ritsu and Hajime, after all.”  
  Distantly, she lets her stare wander. She’s such a slow drinker, slow talker, it’s a shame she’s already forgotten all the things she’s longed to say over the year since she’s finally found her voice. Even now, she’s more the listener than the speaker, she’s eternally grateful no one’s hunting down producers over idols.  
  “Or, are they the one’s driving you away? You adore Hajime, don’t you? Although I understand not wanting to put up with Ritsu, he is quite the hassle, isn’t he?”  
  It’s true, Ritsu is more than just a hassle to her, more like a bloodhound too lazy to actually hunt. She pampers him endlessly and feels no more gratitude than to the cat that scratches as you reach to pet him. That said, there couldn’t be anyone easier to spend the day with, blood drinking aside. For all the times she’s regretfully bit her tongue, she can’t imagine what the “vampire” sees in her blood. It tastes like rust.  
  “But you know, a little birdy told me you were formally in a Tea Ceremony Club, as well, weren’t you?”  
  “Wataru made this tea, right? Tell him it’s shitty. Absolutely the worst tea I’ve ever drank.”  
  He laughs. Well, more like coughs a lot for a minute and gets something that she assumes was a laugh out eventually. Sometimes, she does truly forget she’s transferred to this school. It’s become more homely than her own house.  
  “I’m certain he’d cry if you told him that. Isn’t he wonderful? For such a humble fool, he knows everything, after all.”  
  “Too wonderful. He’s a good actor, as well. Doesn’t that concern you, even a little bit?”  
  “An enemy who calls himself an ally is as good as any other. If possible, I’d like to be an Emperor even the most frightening of assassins could enjoy a cup of tea with. It seems to be going well for us, after all?”  
  She smiles inwardly, taking her first sip.  
  “Do you think it will be a good spring, Eichi?”  
  A comfortable silence fills the air, alongside rebellious birds singing and the thunder that will soon take them. No matter how badly she longs to excuse herself, she’s promised never to run away again. And thus far, she’s impressed how committed to it she’s been, becoming the Earth itself.  
  She can’t run from her shadow, splitting into two’s and three’s and so on, and so forth. Though, it’s a bit of a waste, really. She’s only just now gained the stamina to run for more than a few minutes. It’s as wasted as the tea on her palm.  
  “I wonder. It seems as though your years will only grow more tiring. Training idols, and now newbie producers as well, don’t work too hard.”  
  Those words hold no meaning to her. She’s not really certain how to rely on anyone, desperate for teenage independence yet needing constant reassurance. It frustrates her from the bottom of her heart, but she must stand tall as everyone’s tower. If only someone could reach the top...  
  “Well, you’re becoming a little complacent yourself, aren’t you? Maybe Trickstar wasn’t the best choice for you in the end, do you think? I’m kidding, please don’t hurt me.”  
  If anything, it’s her foot hurting right now kicking him beneath the table. He’s the one who told her to break things, after all. For the headache, she’s not sure she’d regret breaking a few glass bones of his.  
  “It must be nice, to be so dearly loved by so many people. I’m a little jealous, seeing such pure, childhood love blooming in those boys.”  
  Really, they’re like flowers on her boardwalk. She’d never intended to be the lead of a dating game, but sometimes she wonders what her stance has been here, as the only girl in a field of hormonal teen boys. Suffocated by boys unaware of the strength of their intimacy between each other from day one might have been the biggest cultural shock of her life.  
  But that’s the oddest part of all. That romantic love is quiet, easy flowing, like water engulfing the sands of the beach. Boys love is bombastic, overbearing, throwing you in the air when all you want is to sleep. It’s the song replaying over and over in your head long after you’ve begun to dream.  
  “Wataru praises you often, you know? That you made such a cold boy fall in love like a puppy, you’re truly scary, after all. Sometimes I’m glad to have been your enemy, you know.”  
  He hums, kicking his feet up like a child. How old is he again? A little tall to be twelve, she guesses. She can tell from the strain on his face he’s hardly holding out, and without either ever realizing the rains come down like it’s been there from the dawn of time. Light, still, she assumes if he’s survived this long he’s got time to kill.  
  “I wish he didn’t. Love me, that is. Honestly, my life would be much easier if he didn’t.”  
  She redacts her prior categorizing of the boys. Siblings aside, she forgot one important category for a single boy in her life.  
  “Oh my, what should I say at a time like this? Would you like your big brother to comfort you?”  
  “Yeah, no. Don’t say weird things like that, you sound like Izumi.”  
  “From the look on your face, you don’t seem to dislike that.”  
  She kicks him again, without the intention of having him choke on his laughter. Although, from that statement alone, she’s certain she wouldn’t regret seeing him die now. Should she call his doctor? Ask him how many days she has to count down to for her embarrassment to be buried alongside him?  
  “Are you alright? You can breath, right? I’m not giving you mouth to mouth if you start dying, okay~?”  
  Anzu only serves to make the boy's life harder, saying such amusing things. When he finally starts calming down, she takes another sip of her tea, and begins once more.  
  “There’s a lot of time to think when preparing tea, you know? The motion comes so naturally to me, but I feel the things I really want remain out of my reach.”  
  With sullen eyes she looks to him, and he pours her another glass. She leaves another bout of silence in her wake, with ringing in her ears. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t escape it, the sight of girls every boy represents. Its a wonder she can even recognize their faces, their names, so desperate not to fall back to that special place she’s longed to belong to.  
  There was nothing to lose, that’s what she thought walking through those doors of bright and shiny Yumenosaki Academy. It should have been liberating, freeing, but the scent never changes. Steaming tea that traverses the halls, benign smiles and optimistic laughter like children should harbor...  
  “I love it. I loved preparing tea more than anything in the world.”  
  She won’t show even the slightest hint of emotion. Not a single tear. She owes them that much, at least.  
  Just a little bit of courage, huh...  
  “I wonder what it feels like, to love someone so much and have them love you just as passionately.”  
  “I wouldn’t know. I suppose Hokuto wouldn’t know, either? He used to be so cold, you know? I would hate to see him return to such a sulky state.”  
  Finishing her second glass, it seems a fires finally been lit in her eyes despite the rain. Perhaps she has grown rather tired, these days, but it’s finally going to be slowing down here soon. She hopes, at least, considering they all have her number and email and what-not. Perhaps she’ll have to block them all before the new year starts to get one good night of sleep. She loves them, she really does!  
  And Hokuto truly has been a special case. Even when they had met, she couldn’t tell if the boy before her were alive or dead. He has so much to live up to, to aspire to, and she wishes for even a minute he’d lean his head on her shoulder and share all those worries with her.  
  “He’s still cold. When I sleep, I can’t help but think about how warm my bed is without him, you know? And his hands are especially frigid.”  
  He’s nothing like tea, more like the vastness of space freezing her whole body over. But she hardly dislikes it. In fact, it’s something of a blessing, for such a truly off person to have caught her off guard and swept her off her feet.  
  Eichi’s voice rings like the sun rising in the morn. Even the clouds seem to be dissipating at his joy, the clear blue denying any proof this moment had ever happened. And he hasn’t coughed once, this time. Everything seems to be falling into place quite nicely.  
  “Thank you for the tea,” She says. “I’ll tell him myself it tasted good.”


	14. We Love Jesus, But She Done Learned a Lot from Satan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is getting very close to the finale. Please, look forward to many new updates to come! I am very excited to get this hell hole over with. You'll get 3 tomorrow! Promise!  
> ive always wanted to write eileo, but not like this. More silly and fun, like the children they are. Well, I say this, but... This is fun, too. As always, Kanye says it best, in a word it is sinsational.  
> Well, I don't have a lot to say really, but yeah... Eichi and Leo! Goodbye! Wait, no... Enjoy!

 “Tsukinaga, what was your first kiss like?”

 “Awful.”

 Leo speaks so bluntly, like a man with one hand hovering the receiver, desperate to end a call he knows he can’t. Not that he particularly wants to end it, either, because there’s something a little engaging about humoring foolish people over foolish things, things like “firsts,” and “kisses,” which are never really _first kisses_ when you think about it. Not when your grandparents have smothered your forehead more times than you can remember. “Ah, that reminds me,”  
  Leo says it with the intent to finish, less grandiose because it’s the Emperor he’s speaking to and not the subjects. More like a statement for the sake of saying it, for the sake of cutting off anymore of Eichi’s words to write on the littlest of notepads he’s ever been loaned. That is, one of the littlest, so he never touches the walls again, least of all _hers_. Even with every book labeled, _don’t you dare write on the walls, 'King,'_ the temptation lies in his fingertips. Eighty pages isn’t enough, not for a genius like him.  
  And skin is really soft to write on, the way single droplets of ink stain every crack, nook, and cranny, traveling like the roots of a flower. And maybe, when you push your hair behind your ears, and someone catches a glimpse of notes on your hand they’ll ask and say, “Someone give you their phone number?” to which you can laugh because you’ve found so much more. Half a song, have a memory, half the emotions of the most important people in your world melting into your skin rather than a paper someone else will get to hear.  
  Maybe out of spite to muddle all those beautiful artistic and pretentious feelings, Tenshouin lifts his hand and ruins everything like he always does. His hand outreached to the sun, he admires all the lines he never knew he had, smudging up the last stroke of Leo’s pen that followed him.  
  Somehow, the sound eludes him, but he thinks there’s something else playing in his head when he takes Leo’s hand, lifts him out of his chair.  
  It’s that least romantic, almost familiar kind of take, a kiss from across the table drowned out by food and conversation, the bustling streets and flickering old lamps. But it’s not a bad taste, after all, no garlic and salsa at least. Tenshouin kisses are made up of equal parts sugar and spice, bittersweet. And when two pairs of dried up lips part, Leo is left with only the aftertaste of longing.  
  Not necessarily longing for Tenshouin, just a little something more. More than dog treats and cat nip for a trick well performed.  
  He wonders, at times, what it is that makes equal footing in a dance for the tall and the short. Even on the very tip of his tiptoes, it’s a difficult reach for the crown dangling on the tips of Tenshouin’s fingers. Strained faced, trying to take the lead like the leader he’s destined to be, by the only bit of youth that still believes in him. That still believes in… them…  
  Ah, put it that way and it becomes so frustrating. Tenshouin is like the head of cockroach, still obnoxiously squirming by the foot of the door, so pathetic and enticing. It’s painful how only the blind can not see, that only those who have never witnessed the devil pawning apples can rest their heads soundly on its lap.  
  He could list all these things he can not stand all day, if he must. How he can’t stand that cocky smile painted on Tenshouin’s face long after he’s fallen from Heaven into Hell. How he can’t stand the enticement of an angel in the morning, calling his name, asking for his hand to cross the street. Because, damn the rich, they couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag, and Leo’s grown accustomed to finding Tenshouin entertaining all the other lost children at the mall.  
  Certainly, the things he hates go on and on, but they’re nothing in light of all the things Eichi hates. Nobody knows the worst parts of Tenshouin than Eichi knows himself. He knows every sin in the bible and commits all seven at one time, when a hand loses its partner and travels south. Even without cloth, hunger grows, like a frightening beast under the bed begging to be fed, more and more until his heart gives out entirely. Lazily. Giving out love without passion to the poor, leaving Leo longing as he always does leaving before morning  
  And how petty he truly is, acting so high and mighty crawling over a mountain of the dead. It’s the most beautiful game of cat-and-mouse, that everytime Eichi pounces, Leo escapes his grip with his tongue stuck out. What seems like a taste of freedom only has Eichi trying all the harder, to take that joy that isn’t his. To take every drip of the IV, until his body is strong standing on his throne again.  
  Well, they wouldn’t know what to do without one another. Certainly Tenshouin’s said it more than enough times, that Tsukinaga was his favorite. But Leo can’t deny there’s not a script as entertaining as Tenshouin’s is.  
  Even the parts that seem painful, the parts girls cover their faces in their boyfriends jackets to hide away from, he’s certain everyone would agree now, inching all the closer to the finale, that this is a drama, not a tragedy. Even her. Especially her. She, who has nothing at all to forgive preaching of forgiveness being the way. A girl with more disdain in the marrow of her bones than any other telling him time and time again, that love is the only thing that can save a broken soul. Time and time again, it’s always been the blind preaching to the seeing.  
  But there must have been a hint of truth to those words he keeps denying, lifting his head over Tenshouin’s as if to breed dominance neither of them are capable of. There must be something more to the chemicals that tint the cheeks red, when he’s the one always pushing his lips to Tenshouin’s, making their second kiss just as shitty as the first.

 “Awful. It was seriously awful.”  
  Leo says, turning away on his heels, trying to look the part as he takes his leave like his fingers aren’t twitching. Filling longing for more to longing to compose, compose songs that make strangers long, too. Long for the love that will send them to Heaven, raise the devil from his grave and return him home, an Angel forgiven by the Lord.  
  Eichi runs his fingers over the ink on his skin, humming the sounds from his seat he returns. There’s no need to follow, not this time. Because the rats always return for more, tired and weak, and all cats need their sleep.  
  “Is that so? I thought we were having fun.”  
  He smiles, and he doesn’t need to see Leo’s face to ascertain he’s pouting about that like the grumpy child he is. He doesn’t need to see the inner workings of Leo’s heart to know, this one’s a love song, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always... leave a comment. I love eileo so much.......... It's somewhere in that top ships i like almost as much as shnz. Somewhere.  
> Thanks again!


	15. A La Mierda Con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO PEEVED !!!!! IM SO MAD!!!! IM SO SALTY!!!! SALTIER THAN A SALTED PRETZEL AT THE MOVIE THEATER!!!!  
> LET ME TELL YALL.... this was supposed to be the last fic in this.... i had a perfect plan, ive outlined exactly how it was going to end and everything and my ideal i was going to surprise yall i was gonna be the first to write engirls bc no one will aight i was so!!!! i wrote this in june!!!! and i wrote about mikasuzu and then milky way happened and i was so pissed like akira please compansate me for this and THEN someone writes suzuan and bless ur soul but i waS OGNNA DO IT FIRST DAGNABBIT!!!!! this fic has been in my drafts for four months almost can u believe.... but its cool. ITS FINE! i forgive u all... im so forgiving... the perfect plan for this fic has changed so many times anyway.... HAVE ANOTHER SUZUAN. IN FACT, EVERYONE STOP WRITING ABOUT THESE NASTY FRIGGIN BOYS AND JUST WRITE SUZUAN FROM NOW ON. IM HERE TO BRING THE WORLD REVOLUTION!!!!!!  
> seriously tho.... yall suzuan is canon and they are dating and they love each other so much i actually cry every night about this and im ready for the uprising aight yall appreciate girls aight.... appreciate my girls. its time. lets go.  
> heres my old suzuan ..... love they girls.

  Suzu, have you ever thought about what Paradise must be like?  
  I once had only imagined it, something like glowing green pastures and elegant flowers without any litter or dry land. Where all the water is clear, the clouds minimal, and everyone could get along with one another. Don’t you think it’s a little cliche? So fake that even believers would laugh a little bit? But that’s what I thought, and where I thought we could go together.  
  But people will always be people. I must have forgot, sometime back then, that everyone is a person, just trying to get through the days. How frustrating it was, then, to see the world through the eyes of another. But you still held my hand, didn’t you? Still walked the same path I walked, with that beautiful little smile of yours.  
  I met a boy like you, with the same kind of rough, defensiveness as you. Maybe that was the first time I ever felt at home, staring into dual colored, innocent eyes. There’s a lot of boys like that, trying to live without regrets, defending the seniors they love and the friends they trust. It wasn’t very fun, trying to bring clashing worlds together like boys who call themselves enemies and boys who hold grudges. But I remember the girls I’ve turned my back on, silently. Thoughtlessly. I see your smile and I think, certainly I could do better.  
  Certainly, I could make a boy love a boy, as girls love other girls.  
  But I wonder if it would be the same, sometimes. Sometimes, this one cute boy calls me an angel, and I can hear your voice again. I wonder how you tell a boy he reminds you of a girl? They can be so touchy, sometimes.  
  There’s a sweet boy, I think, who told me he would be my sister, who told me he wouldn’t let me suffer surrounded by boys. It’s interesting, how some boys can’t stand that kind of girlishness when they love a girl. I wonder what they think of girls who are bold and girls who can’t stand to be proper? Girls like you, childish as you are, with cartoon eye-patches and glares that could strike the devil himself. I've met the devil, too.

  
  Girls like us, with no where to go but forward, I wondered what it would be like to be loved by dreamy boys like idols.  
  Did you ever think an idol was a person, too? A person who wanted reform, who wanted to live freely the way we did when we were kids? Maybe you did or maybe you didn’t, I realize, now, I never really asked you much how you felt or what you liked. I was never really listening much back then.  
  There are boys who have given everything and lost it all. Boys who destroyed lives and boys who lived on after the fact. Boys with childlike dreams, like being a hero and being a knight. And then, there was me, only observing and absorbing those presences with warm, welcoming arms. I wish I could have helped them all, you know?  
  I still have a lot to regret, for the time I grow old and spend most of my time in a chair knitting and stitching things up. There’s still many things I want to reflect on on the park bench, either alone or with someone like you.  
  There are many girls here, now, doing the same things we used to do together. There’s many new boys, too, who get to see this academy the way it was meant to be from the start. Boys and girls who can be themselves and idols at the same time, like a human aught to do. After my first year, seeing this school from beneath the dirt and digging myself free of the grave, it feels almost wrong. Almost.  
  I want to laugh. None of them would ever believe how different things used to be, how truly cruel these boys used to be. Kimisaki, as well, I wonder if those freshman will ever understand what we did for them.  
  I’ve adopted a lot of little brothers, you know, but I have to ask. My brother, my real little brother, are you treating him well? Do you ever think of me when you see him? I bet not, he’s a bit of a loser compared to me, huh? Don’t let anyone else call him that.  
  There’s a boy who comes to dinner at my house all the time, he takes good care of my brother, too. I was a bit worried he’d have issues, if he didn’t have a good guy friend to tend to him, but another boy always complains, you know? He says it’s no good, for his precious friend to smell like my little brother, that it’s weird. Just like you, he’s such a child, who thinks he’s a vampire. Or rather, I thought he was pretending, until he actually drank my blood as if it were natural to do. Protect my little brother from that weirdo, too, won’t you? When you come to the shows I invite you and all.  
  Back then, there was something I always wanted to say to you but never could. I hope you can forgive me, for forgetting to say goodbye. For forgetting our promises of graduating together, being friends forever. You will always be my very precious treasure, but I’m not ready, yet. To see your face, her face, or anyone from that time’s face, at all. There’s still too much left unfinished here, boys who still need my hand to hold.  
  I never wanted to be the star of the show, to stand out or grant revolutions to the world. Yet I’m still here, still alive and still working myself to death for others I don’t really know. Strangers who think they know me better. But I’ve found something, like green pastures and clear, sunny skies, which I’d like to call paradise. That it were I who could grant those boys a second chance at happiness... Is that what Heaven feels like?  
  I won’t call it so, when it’s without you. But out here, at a little cafe with a cute boy and passing endless hours away, I wanted to tell you the most important thing of all, these words I’ve learned to sing aloud time and time again.  
  I love you, Suzu. With all my heart, as the Angel of your eye, I love you just as dearly. But for now, when I’m a busy bee and you the caretaker of my dear brother, nothing can yet change for us. I won’t promise you we’ll be together again, but like the leaves pilled up over autumn days I hope you remember our days together just as fondly. Of jumping into this pile, of cuddling and laughing like time could never pass us by. And in the night, when it’s just you, and you alone, I pray you can read this letter and believe at least these three words, again and again until they lull you to sleep:

  I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is fun posting a brand new fic side-by-side with an old one. Even in a few months my style has changed a lot.... I love watching that. This entire project has been a field day of how things have changed. I'm glad to experience it with all of you! Comment and shit! Peace until tomorrow!


	16. I Had a Life and I Had Friends (And I Miss All of Them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not proof reading these anymore just trying to bust 'em out as fast as possible so please consider them less of fanfics and more my stream of consciousness as I muse of my favorite ships of all. This fic will end on the 9th, I've decided. And if I can finish another fic in 30 minutes you can have a second chapter but im NOT THAT FAST RIPPPPPP im trying!!!  
> this is what we call poor planning skills   
> anyway.... as always im the only man who ot3s anzu but i really wasnt meaning too.... i actually love natsumu seperate from my deep and disgusting infatuation of natsuan but this just//// worked better with anzu. I DIDNT WANNA WRITE NATSUME IF YOU WANT ME TO BE HONEST LOL  
> short and sweet. a story without a beginning or an end. three people who've built the world with love. enjoy maybe.

 “Oh, it’s yøü.”

 Steam distracts his eyes, from looking directly into Tsumugi. Not that he very often does, and when he does it’s only to take aim. Because, really, Tsumugi only looks like an easy target, he hardly ever is. He’s just full of secrets, a pantry of expired excuses Natsume’s not one for believing.

 But this is Tsumugi we’re talking about, and Tsumugi’s never yet lost to Natsume. 

 “Why are you talking to me like a stranger?! We are friends, aren’t we?”

_ Even if this is only a fated meeting. Even if you’d never invite me out with you, of course we are… _

 And as though he lacks the energy to bother, he gives only the cold shoulder to his unit mate. Yeah, that’s probably the word Tsumugi was looking for. Because friends they most definitely are not. Tsumugi has no friends, after all, the devil on the Devil’s own shoulder. All Tsumugi owns are masquerade masks and invitations to ballroom dances; dances Natsume’d rather die than learn. 

 “I wonder when it Was you drew that Conclusion? Before or after I’d first hit you?”

 There’s no good answer to such a question, although the answer springs immediately to his mind. He supposes either or would leave Natsume in a foul mood for the rest of the day. Every conversation, regardless of topic, is like a game of chess between a grandfather and his youngest kin. Each word, strategically picked, leads them both closer to the real answer to a question never spoken aloud.

 That isn’t to say his presence is entirely unpleasant. The anxious jitters of caffeine are always eased by the scent of familiarity. In a sense, Tsumugi is the decadent drizzle of chocolate topping the mocha, faintly recognizable and easily missed. 

 As subtle though it may be, if you properly pet a porcupine, it’s spines become soft, in the end. That must be Tsumugi’s line of thought, taking the risk of running fingers through Natsume’s odd hair. It’s so poorly kempt, like he hasn’t thought twice about keeping it together despite being out in public. Frankly, he probably hasn’t thought about being in public at all.

 “Why can’t you treat me cutely like a proper junior? I’m hurt, you know? Natsume?!”

 Overtop the swift sound of a slap to Tsumugi’s hand, just heavy enough to knock him off balance, a soft giggle fills the room in equal parts. Perhaps, if only to keep from people staring, thinking there’s some kind of commotion in need of being disrupted, she brings to light her presence soundly. Although she must admit, she’s more content with fading into the background, it’s been a long time coming for her to laugh so loudly. Her voice, on the other hand…

 “You two get along well.”

 ...Is still akin to a whisper, heard only by her two companions who listen intently. Her smile is like a gift from God Himself, one that should spread like a disease to everyone it reaches. But boys who walk a mile in heels know women all the better, all magic and venom like snakes traveling silently in the sand.

 “...Are you blíñd?”

 And maybe Natsume deserves a few slaps of his own, ones perhaps his mother missed out on casting spells and magic in place of discipline. She thinks about it all the time, catching his sleeve to keep him in class, but she’s just as soft, only capable of gentle pushes. She’s the worst kind of sympathizer, attempting to mediate Lucifer and God alike. A flimsy kind of magic that could never stand up to his, of course. 

 And just as children do, they so love their games, far removed from the frumpy grumpy old folk of the day.

 “For once I actually agree, you know? I only wish Natsume and I got along well.”

 Love is a fickle, so easily misunderstood by normal humans, and perhaps even Natsume is still too young to capture the feeling himself. Even when it seems like everyone loves you, adores you for all your pseudo kindness, the fact remains all humans are expendable. Even him, even them, and that alone is reason enough to want to spend his time alone over cheap coffee than with the nuisances of his life. Why, who might be next to drop by? Will the devil, himself, be making an entrance tonight? 

 Well, he can act just as well as any other, respectably better than Tsumugi at least, but truth be told there are few he’d rather be spending the afternoon with. If everyday must be wasted somehow, he’s grateful, at least, that he’s been pulled away from such a dark abyss, eyes cleared enough to face the sun properly. 

 Is that the kind of magic women have? Perhaps he’s made some miscalculations in himself, after all.  

 “If you can have those kinds of peaceful wishes, isn’t that proof enough you’re getting closer?” 

 Her words are some kind of magic, some kind of incomprehensible magic that brings Tsumugi to a seat no one offered, attempting not to stutter at the act of a girl sharing her drink with a boy. She takes care not to leave any backwash, taking slow sips until her drink melts entirely at the side of his piping hot flare. The heat of the summer, doused in flames, still taking the time to fiddle with hot drinks one hundred degrees over.

 “I didn’t take you for the type to go out for coffee like this? You’re a simple child after all, aren’t you?”

 Tsumugi’s smile is just as bright, as the cow that leaped over the moon so proud. If their two fingers ever touched, she muses, they might burn the whole world down. But even, if just for a moment more without any violence and despair, if they could stay like this, she’d love to steal the world with them. All of them, their youngest included, that soft gentle kind of Mother, Father, Child family everyone longs to achieve. 

 Well, so the world is simple, too, and they’re all more than aware of what pipe dreams look like.

 “It’s not s†rånge at all, coffee itself is a fórm of magic. It is the Elixir of Life, after àll?”

 Just like love and the morning moon over the water, the whole world is a chemical reaction carelessly forgotten by all those sleeping through school. As though he weren’t this whole time, a magician lying awake in the night trying so hard to find the happy ending hiding behind locked doors. Just as the entertainment world keeps spinning, on and on without them, even in death this mortal world keeps spinning. In fact, it already has.

 A whole year’s worth of motion has gently passed them by, a wasted whisper in the wind. Perhaps a fool he is, thinking the world would mold to everyone’s happiness in the end, but that’s what has them together here right now, does it not?

 This little kitten, and her three little magicians, the summer, the silk and the sky, perhaps they were born to bring about a world of revolution, unnoticed by the Earth itself. Perhaps they were the only ones in the world who could possibly mold the world to their will, take every single student on a ship far from the Hell they called home. Leaving not a single one behind as the ocean cleansed the world, whispering softly to the summer stars in the clear skies the dreams of children born of magic itself. And in no time at all, who else but them would bring about a world unified – overflowing – with love.

 And how simple of teenage boys and girls, that it only takes a single sip between three, and the stains of caramel and whip cream, to make official that pact. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENT or whatever!!!! good night


	17. WOOOOAAAAAAH! LIVIN' ON A MAORITSU!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know, this fic was never meant to be a joke despite all the silly titles involved. I actually contemplated naming the final chapter FUCK MY LIFE 666 after that really amazing against me song but i thought better of it  
> still, i cant deny maoritsu of the jokiest of jokey titles. Who doesn't love this song, come on! the only proof God is real in this world.  
> i have a pretty gnarly headache so i leave this at that. As all things do begin, I am happy to close this fic with the original motivator. I seriously wonder if I'd be writing enstars as much as I do w/o MaoRitz? I love them vry dearly.  
> thank you.... please enjoy

   There are some perks to being nocturnal, one might think in the late hours of the evening when everyone else rests. Eyes bright and built for the years he’s spent traversing in the night, reaching for cookies out of jars a touch before dawn, before mother rises for work. A clever little cat, jumping from kitchen messes to the tops of trees and rooftops of all the places he’s been banned from. And oh, how beautiful the skies become this far out of the way, illuminating the darkness and guiding innocent souls home before the monstrous Vampire catches their scent.  
  Well, he’s not really scary at all, to be frank. At least he wasn’t to a littler Mao, captured in Ritsu’s arms and taken hostage in the night, laughing off messy crumbs that in-and-of themselves look like monsters. But the fangs of a vampire were never really that frightening, only the iron-clad grip he never relents until he’s had his fill. Fill an empty heart behind twenty-two locks and seven doors, with only a single key under the matt.  
  Really, for children, impressionable and young, what could possibly be better than stealing the night in song. The gentle riffs of a guitar infatuating high pitched piano keys, like the soundtrack of a movie no one’s ever going to see. It could be said to be the first time those lessons forced upon you as a child can finally be called useful. Their own personal interest, in music and each other coming together.  
  Still, as instruments never fail to mesh well, the way voices clash is more akin to territorial cats by the local trash. Maybe it’s that genuine roughness that makes an indie band so good.  
  “Maybe we should start a band,” He said, probably as a joke with laughter coating his voice, but it’s not a bad idea. Not an idea Ritsu could ever say no to, that is. Every ending feels like a brand new day, a new beginning, but it’s not like he’d ever have thought they’d grow apart so easily as stars in the skies rarely do cross.  
  Because what should bring a smile to his face, the smiling face of the only one person he can say he’s ever loved, it only burns his hands all the more how distant a smile it is. 

 

 There are downfalls to being nocturnal, too. The immense loneliness followed by a far too bright phone-screen lighting up his entire room. If it’s a call, it’s easy to ignore without any consideration, the abundant vibration turned to a massage lulling him back into his dreams. Yet, a single buzz is nothing if not an ill-omen, the very definition of that curiosity that killed the cat. Killed, killed, killed and never brought back, this has to be Ritsu’s last life in this world.  
  But there’s a picture there, soothing an over-thinking, analytical mind still wondering about all the why’s and the how’s of this world. There’s a caption written over several times, it seems, that probably started as a joke about Ritsu’s weirdness rubbing off on him, ending with  _ I don’t really know what I’m still awake. _ And Ritsu can hear that laugh of his in his head, hear every typed out character with Mao’s speech in mind.  
  And Ritsu’s not a clue how to keep a conversation going when he’s wide awake like this, he’s certainly not about to turn on a lamp and respond with his face. But he’s also retained enough pride not to admit  _ it’s 4am and I need to see you right now.  _ The flash is brighter than the sun, so he takes to the stars instead, and how  _ each and every one of them reminds me of you.  
   _ Love is nothing if not cheesy and cliche, especially between childhood friends. But he couldn’t imagine a world without the sun, after all, loath it though he may. He thinks again of his message, better of it this time to say,  _ wait for the morning, because you’re the brightest star in the sky. _ Mao is the sunshine decorating the moon in the night, burning Ritsu up into ash every moment they remain together.  
  Every hand held tight starting fires, every kiss steaming cheeks, and the very one he’s salvaged for marriage drying out his lips, love is such a difficult chore, after all. But even like this, softly being torn apart, if it’s overflowing with all the love these poor mortal people give him, the most precious and warm love of Maa-kun, perhaps there are fears he could accept in exchange for loving them back.  
  The fear of watching them come into his life and fade to black, leave him alone and empty once more, so it seems it’s not such a scary thing, after all. It’s the promise that’s frightening, the promise of humans who easily break them as though time were nothing at all but grains of sand lost and regained with the dip of a hand. It’s his own foolishness, letting his hand follow theirs, responding to smiles with moonlight over ocean waves.  
  Perhaps the day is inevitable, that Mao and Ritsu might pull apart, but as of right now, simply watching time slip away with late night texts and whimsical good mornings is a good enough gig for the two of them. And in that moment, the day they sing together and call it a garage band in their parents basements, when laughter comes easier than insults to Ritsu, perhaps it’s in that moment they ground the meaning of  __ I love you into their hearts rather than over pictures.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment idk im still really embarrassed i wrote this actually  
> Thank you for all your love and support! Enstars mostly depresses me but I have fun writing for it, so... As always, thank you for putting up with me!
> 
> update: for all intents and purposes this fic is dead. if i ever finish it it will be late in the year. idealistically there are a few more chapters, but.... No motivation. fic is dead. Sorry.


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